


the beast you've made of me

by azurephil (orphan_account)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, Original Character(s), Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-06-26 15:05:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15665652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/azurephil
Summary: Phil’s eccentric aunt lives hours away in the countryside and needs someone to house-sit while she goes on holiday during the summer. He expects it to be peaceful, albeit boring. Then he meets the gardener.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Shakira voice* this is lycanthropy  
> hey y’all. bit nervous to post this as it’s my first phanfic and the first time i’ve posted any writing online in well over three years. but i hope you like it. i’m not sure how long it’ll be in the end but i’ll try updating a couple times a week.  
> also! dan in this fic is 18 and phil is 22, phil's still a film student so it might not align exactly with his education irl but just roll with it. neither of them are youtubers.  
> the title/concept for the entire fic comes from howl by florence and the machine.

Phil is beginning to think he’s made a mistake.

At first, it all seemed fairly simple. Though, the things in life Phil expects to go smoothly never really do—not without a catch, anyway.

 

 

“Phil, darling,” a honey-sweet voice calls from the room over. He pauses the game he’s playing and tips his head back against the sofa in a weak attempt to see over the back of it.

“Yes, mum?” He hears her huff a laugh and then she’s there, patting his head.

“Don’t do that, you’ll hurt your neck.” She comes around to sit next to him, crossing her legs and folding her hands over her knee. Phil sets his controller aside, as that must mean it’s _Serious Conversation Time_. “I’ve just had a talk with your Aunt Charlotte.”

“Isn’t that the one we don’t speak to much?” Phil asks. The most he can remember about Aunt Charlotte is that she lives in some massive house hours away from any big cities, and she’s not the type to come to yearly family reunions. A recluse, of sorts.

“…Yes. The point is, love, is that she’s going on holiday all summer. So, she’ll be needing someone to house-sit.” She pauses.

“That’s… nice,” he says. “Has she found anyone?” His mum gives him a look, _the_ look, the one that says, “Don’t play dumb, you know where I’m going with this.” He loves his mum, truly, but he hates that look. He keeps his eyes wide, blinks a few times.

She’s not buying it. “Philip, dear. You know your father and I don’t mind you staying here during the summer while you aren’t at university, but I think your aunt would really appreciate the help.” She stands up and makes her way back to the kitchen. “It might be good for you to not spend a whole summer holiday playing those games of yours,” she calls.

Phil sinks his body into the sofa as much as possible, grabbing his controller again. “Alright,” he says, “I’ll think about it.”

 

 

He’d thought about it, and eventually came to a decision, which is why he’s now driving past line after line of trees towards Aunt Charlotte’s house.

The narrow, winding backroads are already hard enough for him to navigate as a subpar driver, on top of the occasional bout of motion sickness, but he expected as much. Phil’s beginning to think he’s made a _mistake_ , however, as the closer he gets to his destination the further and further from civilization it really feels. He makes a right turn and the trees get thicker, denser, as if they’re looming over him. The blue of the sky gets blocked out with leaves, the shade enveloping his car as he drives past. If he listens carefully, the rustle of the branches in the wind nearly sounds like a whisper, a warning to turn back. His hands tighten on the steering wheel.

If he wasn’t exactly stoked about house-sitting for Aunt Charlotte before, he definitely isn’t now.

The pavement of the road gives way to dirt, and he squints when he sees the outline of a building at the end of it. As he approaches, the trees open up to a clearing that circles around the front of her house, a circle of neatly-trimmed bushes in the center. The house itself isn’t as large as he anticipated, but for one person it must feel far too spacious. He parks the car in front, stepping out and craning his neck to look up at it. The house is two stories (and judging by the small window at the top, there’s also an attic), wider than it is tall, with slate grey brick. Vines crawl up the sides of the house, not as if it’s abandoned, but rather like they’re meant to be there. The wood detailing is all painted black, the curtains in the windows a royal violet.

The sun is completely hidden now, clouds obscuring the sky above.

Phil’s hands are sweating as he approaches the front door with his suitcase, nearly tripping up the stone steps to the patio. The door knocker is silver, with ornately crafted flowers along the ring. He picks it up, knocking once, twice—

“ _Oh, Philip!_ ” The door is thrown open, and an older woman bursts out to squeeze him in a bone-crushing hug.

“Hi,” he wheezes out. She pulls back, her hands on his shoulders. She’s beaming, her eyes slightly misty, and her long, neatly-curled hair falling over her shoulders. It’s grey with streaks of black, _sort of like a skunk_ , Phil thinks distractedly. She wears a long, floor-length dress, with a matching sheer shawl over her shoulders, both the same deep purple of the curtains. Phil wonders if she might have made them from the curtains herself.

“I haven’t seen you since you were a baby,” Aunt Charlotte coos, placing a hand over her chest and pinching his cheek with the other. “Look at how much you’ve grown, so tall.” Her hand moves to his long fringe, picking it up. The way she leans in to inspect it with her head cocked isn’t unlike a curious animal. “Though you could do with a haircut, love.”

Phil laughs weakly, straightening out his clothes that she’d rumpled in the hug-onslaught. “So, um. Where do you want me to put this?” He gestures to the suitcase.

“Oh, of course! Come in, come in.” She turns to lead him inside, and Phil isn’t entirely prepared for it.

There are knickknacks _everywhere_ , made of marble and wood and glass. Little figurines of woodland animals perched on every shelf and table, owls and chipmunks and birds alike. And the crystals… there are amethyst geodes and black tourmaline stones interspersed between faerie statues and toadstools. Aunt Charlotte doesn’t stop to show him anything through the foyer or the lounge, so Phil supposes he’ll investigate later. Maybe just with his eyes, though, not with his hands. He can already see himself accidentally breaking something.

She leads him to a wooden staircase, up to the second floor. When they enter the room Phil will be sleeping in, he notices it’s a bit more understated than the cluttered chaos of the first floor. There are still a couple bird statues, as well as a confusing painting of a dog wearing Victorian clothing on the wall opposite the bed, but it’s not too bad. Phil sets down his suitcase and Aunt Charlotte suddenly claps, making him jump.

“Alright! So, first thing’s first, there’s no need to worry about cleaning. I’ve got a lady who comes a few times a week,” she says, turning on her heel and walking out of the room. Phil scurries after her. She leads him back downstairs, down a hall past the lounge. At the end of the hall is a closed door. He can hear something making scratching noises behind it.

“The most important thing you’ll need to take care of while you’re here,” Aunt Charlotte says, opening the door, “is this little one.”

Phil squeaks as a ball of fluff collides with his legs. The dog jumps up on its hind legs to greet him, tongue lolling out. “Oh my gosh,” Phil says, patting its head. “ _Hello_ , oh my gosh, hi.”

“Her name is Momo.” Aunt Charlotte chuckles as Phil lavishes Momo with the affection she rightly deserves. She’s a black and white border collie, with so much fluffy fur Phil feels like he might drown in it. He also feels like he might be allergic. _Worth it._

After giving Phil thorough instructions on how to take care of Momo, showing him all her toys and treats, Aunt Charlotte takes him to the kitchen. While she shows him how to work the appliances, he notices there’s a door leading to the back garden. He peers through the glass. There’s a small cottage at the very back corner, a stone path leading towards it through the bushes and flowers.

“Aunt Charlotte,” he says, pointing, “what’s that?”

She opens her mouth, then closes it, her brow furrowed. “It’s… where the gardener lives. You don’t need to worry about him. In fact, it’s best you don’t bother him at all.”

Well. _Now I’m curious._

“Is he just, um. Unfriendly?” Phil tries, not wanting to push her too far, especially as her tone had shifted from elated to cold in an instant.

She sighs. “You could say that. But really, love, don’t worry about him.” She slaps the smile back on her face. “Now! I’ve got to go get my things together, and then I’ll be off.” As she leaves him in the kitchen, his gaze falls back on the little guest house outside. He shakes his head, walking back out to the knickknack-infested living area. _Maybe later,_ he thinks.

He can hear his aunt shuffling around upstairs as he looks around the room. Not a single wall isn’t covered by a bookcase or shelf, all bearing a variety of trinkets. One bookshelf, however, contains rows of tightly-packed books, their spines worn and frayed. He pulls one out and squints at the cover. The title is nearly completely faded, the only visible words being:

_PROTECTION AGAINST_

In the center is a symbol Phil doesn’t recognize. A circle, with 4 loops through it pointing outwards like a cross. He flips through the book, but it’s written in a language he doesn’t know either. The illustrations are surreal—ghoulish creatures so meticulously detailed they look as if they could jump off the pages, a hulking humanoid beast covered in fur, a woman with bulging eyes and huge, mangled claws—

He hears footsteps on the stairs and slams the book shut, hurriedly shoving it back in its place. Aunt Charlotte descends the stairs, colorful bags hanging off her arms like she’s a coat hanger, her suitcase in one hand. At this point, Phil isn’t surprised by her array of purses, but he _is_ surprised that she managed not to fall down the stairs.

“Alright, love. It’s time for me to go. The cleaner will be over tomorrow,” she says, moving towards the door. Phil follows her, opens it for her, and before he has a chance to offer to carry her bags she’s out the door and down the steps. A black car is waiting outside that definitely wasn’t there when he arrived, the windows too dark to see through; she must have called for a ride. At some point. Phil’s having trouble keeping up.

The trunk opens and she packs in her things. From one of the many purses—a forest green tote—she produces a violet hat to match the rest of her outfit and puts it on before closing the trunk. She turns to Phil. “I trust you’ll take good care of my home, Philip,” she says, and pats his face before climbing into the back of the car. After a moment, the window rolls down and she leans out.

“I can tell you’re a bit nervous. Just remember: everything will be fine.” She gives him a smile and he returns it as she rolls the window back up, settling down into her seat.

“That is,” she adds, as the dark screen of glass nearly covers her, “so long as you don’t meddle in anything you shouldn’t.” With that, the car shifts into drive and accelerates out of her driveway before he can think of anything to say.

Phil is convinced he’s made a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr is also azurephil if u wanna come say hi :~)


	2. Chapter 2

Phil spends the rest of the day tiptoeing around the shelves of his aunt’s fragile belongings, trying not to touch them, tempting as it may be. Her words as she left rattle around in his head, and he finds himself too nervous to do much of anything.

Eventually, he goes up to his room and pulls out one of the books he’d brought with him. Well-worn and familiar, it’s like a friend to him in such a strange, lonely place.

The book—and Momo, curled up beside him—keep him company until his eyelids start to droop.

Phil turns off the bedside lamp, sliding under the sheets. He lets out a sigh. It might be a bit uneventful here, but with it being so quiet, he’ll likely get a lot of reading time in.  _And,_ he thinks, _Aunt Charlotte’s got those weird books downstairs…_

He hears a thud from outside and jerks upright, twisting the sheets close to his chest. He quietly stands, moving towards the curtain-covered French doors leading out to a balcony. Pulling them aside enough to peek out, his eyes focus on the cottage in the darkness. A figure shifts in the shadows—then suddenly is bathed in light as it produces a lantern.

“The gardener,” Phil whispers.

His face is obscured by the hood of his long, black cloak. Phil’s imagination runs wild trying to picture what he looks like: a wrinkled, somber old man, someone with a deep scowl and angry eyebrows, a ghastly-looking boy with hollowed out cheeks. Perhaps a combination of them all, or something entirely different. In the dark of night, he doesn’t have a clue.

The gardener swiftly walks to the side of the house and out of Phil’s line of sight. He hears another thud, then nothing. Presumably he’d gone out through the fence on the side of the house, but Phil isn’t really thinking about that. He climbs back into bed.

“Where the hell would he be going this late? It’s like, the middle of the night,” he wonders aloud. Despite his confusion, and the fact that his heart is still racing, eventually Phil drifts off into sleep.

It seems from his first day that he has a handful of questions yet not a single answer.

 

 

The first thing Phil sees in the morning is bright orange behind his eyelids. He groans, turning away from the sunlight filtering in through the glass doors. _Weren’t the curtains closed last night? Who—_

“ _Levez-vous, monsieur_. It is past eleven, you know,” says a voice to his right. One half of Phil’s sleep-foggy brain is startled by the presence of another person in his room, and the other half registers that there’s a French maid standing next to his bed. He cracks an eye open, expecting a cute girl in a stereotypical, skimpy outfit. _Because this place couldn’t get any weirder,_ he thinks dryly _._

Instead, he’s greeted by an impatient-looking woman who must be older than Aunt Charlotte, judging by the deep lines on her face and her grey, neat bun. She pulls the sheets back and Phil yelps, feeling exposed wearing only his boxers. She doesn’t blink.

“I must make the bed now. As I said, get up.”

Phil scrambles over to the wardrobe where he’d hung up his clothes and darts into the bathroom to shower. By the time he’s done, the woman is gone.

He finds her in the kitchen. She’s scrubbing at one of the counters as he makes his breakfast, not paying him any attention. Momo is laying on the cool tile by her feet and wags her tail at Phil in greeting. He sits at the table and clears his throat.

“So, uh.” She turns as he speaks, eyebrow raised in anticipation. “I’m Phil. What’s your name?”

“Nanette,” she says, and resumes scrubbing. Phil sighs quietly. He hates awkward first meetings.

“You’re French, right?”

“ _Oui, monsieur_.”

“I know some French.” She turns around again at that. “ _Je mange le petit enfant_ ,” Phil says, grinning.

“Very funny,” Nanette deadpans. Evidently, they don’t share the same sense of humor, but Phil is determined to make her like him. He feels that way about pretty much everyone he meets.

He finishes his breakfast, cleaning up his dishes and finding himself staring out the back door again. He thinks back to last night, of a fluttering cloak and warm yellow lamplight.

“Nanette, do you know anything about the gardener?” he asks.

“Hmm, Daniel? Curious little boy,” she says, voice muffled. Looking over at her, she’s got nearly half her body leaning in the oven as she cleans it.

“Curious?”

“Keeps to himself. But polite,” she adds.

“Aunt Charlotte said not to bother him, though.”

“She says a lot of things.” Nanette steps back from the oven, shutting it and placing her hands on her hips. “Time for the lounge,” she says, and promptly walks out of the kitchen. Phil follows her, not feeling as though the conversation is over.

“Do you think maybe I could talk to him, then?” he asks. She pauses her dusting of one of many (many) animal figurines, and pointedly stares up at him.

“You can do whatever you feel is right, Phil. Here, there are no eyes on you.” She points to the window, and his gaze follows her finger to the line of trees past the fence of the house. “Out there is where you must be careful.” He nods, unsure of how to respond to that.

“Okay, well… I’m gonna… go try talking to him,” he says, brow furrowed. Nanette merely continues dusting, not paying him any mind as he heads back to the kitchen and out the back door to the garden. Much like the first time he entered Aunt Charlotte’s house, he’s immediately overwhelmed. Looking through the glass of the door can’t even remotely compare to actually walking through the garden. Tree branches bend down over the stone path, blood-red cherries hanging over Phil’s head. There are flowers of every colour on the spectrum blooming around each other and he imagines all their roots intertwining underground. Hummingbirds flutter in the sky above the trees, and the wind moving through the leaves doesn’t seem so foreboding, now.

Somehow, Phil feels completely at peace.

He spots a pond about ten feet off the path surrounded by stones, and if he listens close enough, over the buzz of insects and the whisper of the wind there is the faintest rushing of a small, manmade waterfall on the other side. When he squints, he can see fish swimming about under the surface. After taking his time on his stroll—but how could he not, with a view like this?—he approaches the cottage in the corner of the garden. The colourful nature of the garden seems to dull here, he notices, though still he is captivated by its beauty.

The dark brick and wood of the cottage are nearly, if not black. The flora surrounding the house are gorgeous and immaculately pruned—tall, black hollyhocks and deep purple ranunculus that look so soft Phil can’t help but run a hand across their petals. It’s all so wonderful until he looks up and finds himself stood in front of the gardener’s door, and suddenly all the nerves come rushing back.

_What if he doesn’t like me? What if he’s really scary? What if he’s some kind of serial killer or something? Nanette said he was “polite,” but what if he’s only polite until he gets you inside his murder chamber—_

Instead of turning on his heel and running like he wants to, he shuts his thoughts up by forcing himself to knock on the door.

Silence follows. The summer sun seems to burn hotter on his back in the quiet. Then, a rustling comes from somewhere inside, and the door handle turns.

The gardener opens the door, and Phil is almost tired of being shocked by pure _beauty_ today.

_His name is Daniel,_ he remembers, and Daniel looks like a goddamn angel. His skin is golden and his eyes big and brown. His hair, long and framing his face like Phil’s own, is so curly and looks as soft as the flowers around them. He’s young, younger than Phil, but likely not by much, and he stands just as tall. His sleeveless shirt and shorts are baggy on his thin frame.

Daniel cocks his head to the side and frowns. Phil realizes he’s been gawking at this boy for God knows how long and splutters, his hands nervously coming up to scratch at his hair and adjust his shirt.

“Um,” he says, “hello.” _Smooth, Phil._

“…Hello,” Daniel says. “Who are you?” His accent is southern, and so posh Phil feels like he could melt on the spot, because _cute_.

“Uh, my name is Phil,” he says, sticking out his hand awkwardly. Daniel reluctantly shakes it. “I’m Charlotte’s nephew and I’m watching her house while she’s on holiday.”

“Oh, right. I forgot about that. I’m Dan. Nice meeting you.” He starts to close the door and Phil’s hand shoots out impulsively, stopping him.

“Wait!” Daniel—or Dan, if that’s what he’d rather be called—looks expectantly at him, and Phil doesn’t really have a plan, but he doesn’t want this boy to leave. “Would you like to…hang out… with me?” His voice is tiny and unsure. Dan’s eyebrows raise in surprise.

“I…” he starts, then stops. “What? Why?” He seems so genuinely confused, Phil wonders if anyone here has ever offered to spend time with him.

“Well,” Phil says, “there isn’t anyone else here to talk with, aside from Nanette, and she seems busy. So I thought maybe you could use some company, since you’re out here by yourself. I mean, it’s really nice out here, but it’s got to be kind of boring if you’re alone, you know.” He’s rambling and he’s pretty sure his hand is doing that weird thing where he turns it around and sticks it in his pocket, palm outwards. He’s starting to sweat under the sun and the gaze of Dan’s eyes.

Dan’s expression softens. He ducks his head and adjusts his long fringe.

“Yeah,” he says, “okay. Come in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr is also [azurephil](https://azurephil.tumblr.com/), come say hey if u want to :D


	3. Chapter 3

The cottage is a lot homier than Phil expects it to be.

It really is small, just a living area, a bedroom, kitchen and bathroom. It’s basically a small apartment. Although it’s comfortable, with fluffy blankets and cushions on the sofa, most of what he can see is black. Based on the flowers outside and the furniture inside, Phil’s thinking Dan might have a favourite colour.

Dan sits on the sofa tentatively, nervously. He watches Phil silently while he’s looking around, but Phil doesn’t even notice. His attention is drawn to the brightest thing in the room.

Amidst the all-black aesthetic, there’s a splash of white in a vase on one of the end tables. He gently lifts up a leaf.

“Lilies?” Dan nods. “They’re so pretty.” He sits on the other end of the sofa, not wanting to make his new sort-of-friend uncomfortable. Well, more uncomfortable than he already is. Dan’s skinnier than Phil, lankier in the way that suggests he still has more growing to do, but he seems even smaller with the way he shrinks in on himself. There’s an air of insecurity about him.

“So, what do you like to do?” Phil asks.

“Uh, well. I spend most of my time out in the garden, but… I guess sometimes I play the piano,” Dan says quietly. He gestures to the corner by the television, where a plastic guitar leans against the wall. “Or play video games.” Phil leans over excitedly.

“I like playing Guitar Hero too! Though I’m kind of rubbish at it.” Dan cracks a tiny smile and Phil considers that a win.

“I’ve only got the one guitar here, though, so we can’t both play. I do have Mario Kart, if you’re into that,” Dan says, louder this time, sitting up a little more.

Phil beams at him.

He is _definitely_ into that.

 

 

The television is a little small for both of them to see the split-screen of the game, but they spend a couple hours melted into the sofa nonetheless. By the time they stop, their faces are pink from laughing so hard. Phil’s still smiling, especially as he remembers what his mum said about this whole house-sitting thing: _It might be good for you to not spend a whole summer holiday playing those games of yours._ Well. Not only is he playing those games of his, but he’s playing them with a cute boy. Life is pretty good to him, sometimes.

Dan’s sitting with his legs crossed up on the sofa, holding a pillow to his chest. He really is just a normal boy, Phil thinks, who likes the same games he does and with hair just like his own.

_But,_ a voice in the back of his head chimes in, _he was also running off in the middle of the night for God knows what reason._ A multitude of questions pop up like weeds through the cracks of their budding friendship, and Phil doesn’t want to ruin it so soon but he’s also so curious to know more about Dan.

“Dan.” He’s staring off into space, lost in thought like Phil had just been, but snaps out of it.

“Yeah?”

Phil mentally shuffles through all of the questions he has and settles on: “How old are you?” Dan blinks.

“Eighteen. Why?”

“You just. You look young, that’s all. And I just, I guess I didn’t expect the gardener for my aunt to be an eighteen-year-old. How did you even get this job?”

Dan’s relaxed posture grows rigid again, like it had been when Phil had first walked in. He looks past Phil, stares at the lilies in the vase behind his head. “My grandmother,” he murmurs. “She knew your aunt.”

“Oh. Are you… going to go to uni?” he asks. Dan visibly cringes.

“No.” He stands up, tossing the pillow on the sofa. Phil can see the imprints of where his fingers were tightly digging into it. “Anyway, I need to tend the garden soon. You should probably go.” He makes a beeline for his bedroom and shuts the door. Phil sighs quietly. He gets up and stands in front of the door.

“Thank you for letting me hang out with you,” he says through it, hoping Dan can hear. “It was really fun.” He waits, but there’s no response, so he leaves.

Walking back through the back garden isn’t as magical an experience as the first time. At least, not with the knowledge that he somehow already managed to mess up a potential friendship.

He doesn’t see Nanette when he enters the main house, but he can hear her tinkering around somewhere. He has a feeling that even if he told her about his awkward experience with Dan, she wouldn’t have much to offer other than some more cryptic, nonsensical advice.

Well, at least he _thinks_ it was nonsensical. _Maybe the forest is actually dangerous and filled with face-eating bears, who knows._

Phil spends the rest of the day playing with Momo, reading more of his book, and watching a movie he’d brought with him to pass the time. Throughout the afternoon, he finds himself periodically getting up to peek out the window of the lounge. It’s kind of creepy, maybe, but his curiosity about Dan keeps growing and there isn’t much he can do to stop it.

Dan waters and trims the various plants in the front and back of the house for a few hours, then returns to his cottage. Phil stays up late again, and he doesn’t see Dan come out the rest of the day. After the sun sets, the lights in the cottage stay off.

In the early hours of the morning, Phil’s again trying to sleep with Momo curled up at his feet when he hears the door to Dan’s house open. He jumps up, earning him a disgruntled huff from Momo, and pulls the curtain aside. Sure enough, Dan is outside, cloak-clad and lantern-bearing just as he was the night before. Climbing back into bed, he wonders if maybe Dan just has a strange sleep schedule.

“Maybe he was sleeping all day,” he whispers to the ceiling. Momo yawns, and if she could speak English Phil thinks she might tell him to “go the hell to bed.”

 

 

The next day, and the day after that, he knocks on Dan’s door to no avail. He’s sure Dan is awake, because once he gives up and goes inside Dan comes out to tend the garden. _So he’s avoiding me, fine._ Phil pouts for a while about it, earning him some strange looks from Nanette the next time she’s there to clean. She’s not one to push, Phil’s learned. She lets him throw his pity party in peace.

After the first couple tries, he doesn’t attempt to bother Dan for the rest of the week. It’s while he’s petting Momo one morning that he decides he’s had enough of dancing around each other.

“Maybe I should just try confronting him while he’s outside,” he says, scratching behind her ears. She tilts her head and looks up into his eyes, letting out a whine.

“What do you think I should do, Momo?” he asks, not expecting her to do anything, considering she’s a _dog_. To his surprise, she hops up and bites onto his pajama pants, tugging at him to get up. He follows her as she trots downstairs to the kitchen.

“He’s not outside yet, though,” he says, gesturing to the back door. Momo doesn’t head for it anyway, just plops herself down in front of a row of cupboards. Phil sighs. “Maybe I shouldn’t try to ask a dog for advice.” Momo huffs air through her nose at him and he’s not sure if he imagines the seemingly indignant expression on her face.

Phil loiters around the kitchen for a minute before he gets an idea. He starts opening cupboards, searching through Aunt Charlotte’s various snacks until he finds it. _Perfect._ He pulls out a packet of microwave popcorn and sticks it in the microwave, finding the biggest bowl he can while it pops.

“I’m a genius, Momo.” He smirks down at her and gets a sniffle in return.

Once he’s got his bowl filled with, in his opinion, the holy grail of all foods, he looks out the glass of the back door and sees Dan out and watering his flowers. He squares his shoulders, lifts his head, and takes the popcorn outside. Momo’s nails tap along the tile as she follows him. Hearing the door hinges squeak, Dan looks up across the garden and nearly drops his watering can as a very enthusiastic dog comes bounding up to him.

Phil tries to catch up to her as fast as an unfit, popcorn-carrying boy can. He’s out of breath by the time he reaches them.

“Hi, girl. No, this isn’t for you, it’s my watering can.” Dan is doing a weird little dance around the grass while Momo chases him. He looks up as Phil approaches and promptly breaks eye contact. “Oh, hey,” he mumbles. Momo runs off across the garden then, nose determinedly sniffing at the ground.

Phil doesn’t know what to say now that they’re face to face again, so he just sticks his arms out, offering Dan the bowl. Dan blinks up at him.

“What’s this?” he asks. Phil smiles gently.

“Apology popcorn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe apology popcorn will be our always  
> tbh, this isn't my favorite chapter i've written. but i hope you enjoyed it! come talk to me on tumblr @ [azurephil](https://azurephil.tumblr.com/) if you feel so inclined :^)


	4. Chapter 4

The crooked smile that spreads across Dan’s face makes Phil’s heart skip in his chest.

“Apology popcorn?” he asks. He reaches over to grab a handful and pop them in his mouth.

“Yeah. I’m sorry I made things weird last time. Popcorn’s like, the best food ever, so I thought it would help my case.” Dan giggles, shaking his head.

“Alright,” he says, “I forgive you.” He starts to turn towards the rows of flowers again but stops. “You can, um. You can talk with me while I work, if you want.” He fiddles with the fringe over his eyes nervously.

Phil leans in closer, a cheeky grin on his face. “Trust me, I want to.” Dan’s golden skin flushes rose pink. He clears his throat and resumes watering his flowers.

Phil’s not sure how in the span of a few minutes they went from not talking at all to outright flirting. All he had to do was apologize and offer Dan food to make the atmosphere around them comfortable again, and it astounds him just how comfortable it is. Dan is caring for the flowers, occasionally taking off his gardening gloves to have some popcorn, and Phil is watching him work quietly. It reminds him of how last week, they connected so quickly while playing Mario Kart.

Between the two of them, the popcorn is finished quickly and Phil steps inside for a moment to put the bowl down. When he steps out again, his breath catches. Dan is glowing under the sun. The curls framing his face shine and Phil swears he can see the brown of his eyes from where he stands. He’s only stopped to look up at the clouds, but to Phil he practically looks like a perfectly-sculpted marble statue. He doesn’t know what’s come over himself. Dan’s wearing a sleeveless shirt and shorts again, black like the interior of his cottage, and he feels himself flush looking at him. _Since when did someone’s bare arms and legs do_ this _to me?_

Dan looks over at him, meeting his eyes, and suddenly Phil can breathe again.

When he joins Dan again, they move around the garden in a comfortable silence once more—until Dan decides to break it.

“I’ve been working here since I was fifteen,” he says casually, gaze focused on the bright red poppies at his feet.

“Really?” Phil asks. Dan nods. “I—I mean, I don’t want to pry, but…”

“It’s okay.” Dan’s voice is soft, yet vulnerable. He’s opening up to Phil this time, and Phil really doesn’t want to mess that up.

“Were you going to school?”

“I was. Then I moved here, and I was homeschooled for a while, but I’m done with all of that now.” It’s vague, and there are so many questions left unanswered, but Phil doesn’t want to push him. By opening up to Phil, he’s placed trust in him, and it would be foolish to throw it away.

Phil isn’t sure why earning Dan’s trust is so important all of a sudden. But it is. Clearly he doesn’t have anyone to keep him company, and Phil just… wants to be there for him. If this was just a summer job for Dan, maybe he wouldn’t feel that way. But Dan _lives_ here. He’s lived here for three years. He must be lonely.

Phil just doesn’t understand why anyone would subject themselves to that kind of loneliness.

“Do you get along with Charlotte?” he asks. Dan bends down to yank at a weed sprawling up amongst the flowers.

“Mm, well. That depends, is she your favourite aunt in the whole world?”

“Um.” Phil’s confused. “I guess not. I don’t really know her at all, honestly.”

“So you won’t be offended if I say no, then.” Phil shakes his head. “Well, then no. We don’t get along.” He finds another weed and pulls it up a little harder than the last. “She’s not fond of me.” Phil would ask why not, but he feels like that’s another off-limits question.

The silence that stretches between them this time is tense. Phil wants to pop it like a bubble. Dan’s got a crease between his eyebrows like he’s thinking too hard, and Phil wants to fix that, too. Smooth it down with his fingers. Such a deep frown looks so out of place on his young face.

He tries to change the subject. “Your voice is so—”

“Don’t say posh.”

Phil splutters a laugh. “I wasn’t going to! I was going to say southern.”

“Sure you were.” Dan rolls his eyes.

“I was! Anyway, where are you from?”

“…Wokingham.” Dan hesitates for a second before answering. “My grandma lived up here, though. That’s how she knew your aunt. Old friends, I guess.” Phil nods enthusiastically, glad that Dan’s sharing things about himself. Dan sets down his gardening tools for a moment, crossing his arms and shooting Phil that same crooked smile that makes his knees weak.

“What about you?” he asks. “You haven’t told me much about yourself, you know.”

Phil knows under the bright sunlight, his near-translucent skin is obviously flooding with pink. He coughs. “Right. Uh, sorry.” He gives Dan a thorough overview of his family tree, talking extensively about the tight-knit, immediate family he holds dear to him. Dan’s smile slightly falters, but he listens closely nonetheless. As Phil goes on about the degree in film he’s working towards, Dan seems so invested, leaning against the back wall of the main house with his eyes fixated on Phil’s face. Somehow, even though they could go inside either building, or sit on one of the benches in his aunt’s spacious garden, they find themselves sliding down the wall to sit in the dirt. It’s hot and uncomfortable against the brick of the house but Phil doesn’t even notice.

It's proving to be an unusual summer, he realizes as Dan smiles at something he said a moment ago, his sparkling eyes crinkling up at the corners. Most summers have been splashing through crystal blue Florida waters, play-fighting with his brother, leaning too close to the television while he beats a game for the fifth time. But never this. Never a magnetic connection too strong to pull away from. Never a time where he’d let the sun beat down on him for the better part of an afternoon just to wait for a dimple to appear in a boy’s cheek. It’s almost hypnotic, these cherry trees and darting hummingbirds, this grand, enigmatic estate—and Dan, in the center of it all. A boy just like Phil yet living a life so far from his own.

At some point, Dan yawns and snaps Phil out of it, his train of thought running off the tracks. He wonders what kind of nonsense he was talking while spaced out like that, his face warming at the realization that he’d been staring at Dan for a while. Dan’s got his knees up to his chest and his head tilted towards Phil, a sleepy look on his face. The sun has moved across the sky, bathing them in shade.

“I could listen to you talk all day, I think,” Dan murmurs. Phil smiles sheepishly.

“I didn’t mean to talk your ear off, sorry. It’s just…” He waves a hand unhelpfully. _God, how do I say we get on better than anyone I’ve ever met?_

“I get it.” Dan stands up and brushes his shorts off. Phil does the same. “I’ve got a weird sleep schedule, so. I kind of feel like I’m falling asleep.” Phil already figured that out, but he doesn’t mention the creepy peeking-out-the-curtain thing he’d been up to the week before.

“That’s alright,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” His voice squeaks a bit and it comes out as a question when he hadn’t meant for it to. Dan just laughs.

“Yeah. You will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hey over on [tumblr!](https://azurephil.tumblr.com/) c:


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all! quick warning: this story doesn't involve depression or depressive episodes; however, there is a scene in this chapter that could be interpreted that way. pls use your best judgment if that's something that bothers you!

Phil spends the next few afternoons outside with Dan while he works, and when he’s not working they play games together in Dan’s house. Every once in a while the controllers end up on the floor, the games forgotten as they sit across from each other on the sofa and just… talk. They talk so, _so_ much, for hours at a time. They bond over Final Fantasy and Muse; Phil chatters excitedly about his film projects and Dan tells him all about the things he used to get up to in drama class.

Phil doesn’t miss the way Dan plays with his hair and looks up at Phil through his lashes when they talk. He hopes Dan doesn’t miss the way he always scoots closer on the sofa and rests his knee against Dan’s.

For all the not-so-subtle flirting and endless chatting they do, there’s still so much Phil doesn’t know about him. He knows plenty about Dan’s interests, now—it’s just anything related to how he ended up working for Aunt Charlotte, why he started being homeschooled, why he moved so far from home at such a young age… those things are still off-limits conversation topics. Dan won’t bring them up any more than he already has and Phil is too scared to try for fear of Dan shutting him out again. So he enjoys the new friendship they’ve built for what it is, and wakes up each day more excited than the last to spend time with Dan.

Until today.

Today, he wakes up with the distinct feeling that something is off. He sits up in bed, a black-and-white blur in the corner of his eye. Putting on his glasses, he sees Momo sat in front of the window, her back to him.

“Momo?” he calls to her. She looks back at him with a low _woof_. “What is it, girl?” He climbs out of bed and opens the doors to the balcony. The wind ruffles his long hair as he steps out. The clouds above his head are a blanket across the sky, dark and bloated. Normally, he’d welcome some summer rain as it’s much cooler outside than it had been. But something doesn’t feel right. Like the universe is off-kilter.

When he goes downstairs, Nanette is there.

“It is going to storm,” she says. She’s dusting the windowsills in the lounge, squinting out at that distant line of trees.

“I thought so,” Phil says. Nanette shakes her head.

“Not in the way you think,” she mutters, almost to herself. Phil peers out one of the windows next to her. The darkest clouds in the distance steadily move closer. His focus snaps over to the door to Dan’s house as it opens, his entire body perking up with excitement. He doesn’t realize he’s grinning widely until Nanette speaks, reminding him she’s there.

“You have become friends.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“Yeah, we get on really well.” Dan looks up at the sky and exhales deeply; Phil can see his chest move. “He’s interesting,” he adds, softly.

For some reason, Nanette laughs quietly at that.

“He is,” she says.

 

 

After Phil’s had his breakfast, he decides to go over and see Dan, who’s gone back inside his house. There are fat droplets of water falling as he walks through the garden, sliding down tree branches to land on his head.

The door to Dan’s house is open. Not enough to notice until he’s in front of it, but it’s cracked open slightly. He knocks anyway and waits. Nothing. He pushes the door open and notices the lights inside are off. The clouds cast a shadow over the home as he enters, darkening the rooms even further. A chill runs through his bones.

“Dan?” he calls. The rain picks up and loudly peppers against the roof. Dan’s not in the lounge or the kitchen, but his bedroom door is half ajar.

Phil sucks in a breath and walks in. The thick, gunmetal-coloured curtains in Dan’s bedroom block out any natural light and his eyes take a moment to adjust. Dan is tangled up in a blanket on his side, staring with wide eyes at Phil.

“What are you doing.” His voice is hoarse and small.

“I…” What _is_ he doing? _Barging into someone’s house_ , his mind unhelpfully supplies.

“Never mind.” Dan sighs, and his eyes slip closed. He looks so downcast and it hurts Phil’s heart. “Do what you want.”

Phil sits on the edge of the bed. “Are you feeling alright? Can I help?” Dan shakes his head.

“Not with this,” he whispers. “I’m just weird. Don’t worry about it.”

It feels like Phil’s tongue is stuck inside his mouth. He wants to say something to make it better, but he doesn’t know what or how.  Dan is sad, or sick, or both maybe. He doesn’t have much experience with that. So he blurts out something he does have experience with.

“You know what I’ve got a lot of at home?” Dan cracks one eye open. “Those little grow-your-own aquarium things. And I used to have these tiny pet shrimp I kept in a jar—I named one of them Simon, he was my favourite—but they died.” He just keeps rambling on about strange objects he has back home, about his hobbies and collections and whatever else he can think of. There’s a ghost of a smile on Dan’s face, and he untangles himself from his blanket a bit, sitting up a little more. Phil keeps talking for a while, trying his best to distract Dan from whatever’s bothering him.

The rain drums on and on. Phil feels a brush of fingers against his; Dan’s little finger intertwines with his own.

“You’re sweet,” Dan whispers. Phil’s heart thuds against his chest, staccato like raindrops. “I’m not used to that.”

“What do you mean?” Phil holds his little finger a little tighter.

“Before I moved here… when I was back in school—people weren’t like you. They didn’t treat me like you do. You’re just _kind_. No one else ever was.” It hurts him to hear Dan’s words, but Phil gives him the warmest smile he can muster. He hasn’t realized until now that Dan’s never mentioned having any friends from school.

“Well,” he says, “you deserve a friend. Everyone deserves to be cared about.” Dan’s eyes are fixated on him in the darkness, an intensity behind them that makes Phil’s breath catch in his throat. For a split second, the brown of his irises impossibly flickers to gold. Thunder rumbles in the distance after a moment, so it must have been a reflection of lightning through the window in Dan’s eyes.

Though there’s a small part of him that doesn’t believe that.

“I feel a bit better, but I think maybe I should just go to bed now,” Dan says. “I’m just… having an off day. I’m really tired.”

“Oh, sure.” Phil scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. Before he can move to get up, Dan fully sits up, facing him. He leans in close, close enough that Phil can smell him, then closer. His nose bumps Phil’s, and his breath tickles along Phil’s lips.

“Thank you,” he whispers, looking straight into Phil’s half-lidded eyes with his own.

“Anytime,” Phil says. He can’t even hear the rain anymore over the blood rushing in his ears. He leans forward just a bit, tips his head to the right, and—

Dan leans away, a mischievous look on his face. “Bye, Phil.”

Phil chokes out a surprised laugh. “Bye,” he says, grinning. He gets up and doesn’t let go of Dan’s little finger still intertwined with his own until he has to. “I’ll see you later. Get some rest.” Dan’s still smirking, but he sags back against the pillows. He really does look exhausted, even though Phil can’t see him very well in the dark. He can make out the bags under Dan’s eyes, just barely.

Dan hasn’t been off like this the past few days. It’s as if something just… sapped him of all his energy. He closes the door to the house and a raindrop plops on his nose. Nanette’s words echo between his ears— _It is going to storm_. He avoids stepping in puddles on his way back to the main house, his hands in his pockets. His heart flutters thinking of the way Dan was so close to him, and simultaneously it feels as though there’s a weight on his chest. The rain has let up but the clouds overhead are still dark. He doesn’t know how to shake this feeling of dread.

That night Phil lies awake, waiting for Dan to leave the cottage like he always does. He waits and waits, tossing and turning. Momo huffs at him and lays down on the floor. In the end, if Dan ever leaves, it’s after Phil can’t keep his eyes open anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say howdy over on [tumblr](https://azurephil.tumblr.com/) (ノ・∀・)ノ


	6. Chapter 6

He wakes to the wind howling.

The sound of the wind isn’t what wakes him up, though; Momo is bounding around his room, jumping up on the bed and stepping over his legs. She’s snuffling and woofing, and as he stretches she noses at his face. He grunts, petting her fluffy face and sitting up. She hops off the bed and scratches at the balcony doors. Phil slips on his glasses as he can’t really tell what she’s up to when everything more than two feet away is a blurry blob.

He opens the doors and the wind ruffles his shirt, flattening his bird’s nest of bedhead. Momo darts around his legs, her fur fluttering about and her ears back. Like she’s scared.

Green leaves that aren’t meant to fall this time of year are being ripped from trees and falling on the balcony, small branches littering the grass of the garden. He grabs on to the metal of the railing and peers over to get a better look. There, he finds Dan. The wind seems to quiet down in his ears, the greenery fading to monochrome in Dan’s presence.

Distantly, he thinks that maybe this looks like a scene out of a fairytale, him leaning over a balcony and Dan underneath looking up at him. Wait—not him. Dan’s got his eyes fixed on the sky. Phil squints up at the clouds being pushed about, trying to follow Dan’s line of sight. The highest clouds part, and even during the day he can see it.

The full moon is framed by wispy grey clouds, like the spherical pendant of a silver necklace.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” he calls down from the balcony, raising his voice a bit to be heard over the wind. Dan practically jumps, flinching away from Phil’s voice. His eyes are wide, and again for a moment Phil swears they flash to gold. Before, though, they flickered that sparkling yellow like a fire, with heat behind them. This time, he just looks terrified. His mouth opens and closes repeatedly, like he’s trying to speak but words won’t come to him.

“D-Don’t,” he stutters. “Don’t come over today.” Phil can barely hear his croaky voice.

“What? Why not?”

“Just _don’t_ ,” Dan pleads, backing up towards his cottage. “It’s just not a good idea today. Trust me.”

“Wait. Dan!” He leans over the railing as far as he can, as if it’ll make Dan stay outside. He doesn’t; he just hurriedly enters his house and shuts the door. Phil sighs. Momo is still pacing around his legs, whining quietly. Hair whipping across his face, he looks back up at the moon. It’s faint but visible in the daylight, and really rather beautiful. He shakes his head, knowing he’s not going to understand what’s going on any time soon, and returns inside. Dan’s anxious behavior, the odd weather, Nanette’s comment about a “storm.” All just coincidences, probably. Probably.

Phil showers, gets dressed, and tries his best to straighten his unruly hair. It isn’t cooperating with him today, and he has to practically rip the old socket off the wall to unplug the straightener, and Momo is scratching at the bathroom door—he groans. _Today sucks,_ he thinks. It isn’t all as bad as he thinks it is, but he’s a bit put out by Dan basically telling him to stay the hell away.

Momo follows Phil downstairs and he’s startled to find Nanette sitting on the sofa, sipping a cup of tea.

“Nanette?”

“Hello, Philip.” She takes another sip.

“I thought you weren’t coming by today.” Nanette only comes a few times a week, and today isn’t one of those days. Not only that, but she usually just cleans and then leaves. He’s never seen her make herself at home like this. She’s silent for a moment. A grandfather clock in the corner ticks, the fan by the couch whirs, and beads of sweat gather on Phil’s brow.

“Do not worry about it, _monsieur_.” Another non-answer. Phil feels like tearing his hair out.

“But,” he says, and her eyes flick over to him, “why? I feel like every time I ask anyone here a question no one…tells me anything…” He trails off, feeling intimidated as she stares at him.

“It is only—” A branch smacks against the window suddenly, the trees outside still rustling in the wind. “It is only for your benefit. As I said before, you are safe here. And that is all that matters, _n’est-ce pas_? So, to keep you safe, you will probably not get all the answers you want. Do not worry about it.” She breaks eye contact, sipping more of her tea. _Thanks Nanette, that was really helpful._ He internally rolls his eyes.

“I talked to Dan outside, from the balcony,” he says. Nanette freezes mid-sip. “He told me not to go over there today.” She slowly nods, the porcelain of her cup tapping against the plate in her other hand.

“That is for the best.”

“Should I even ask why that is?” Phil wonders if he looks as exasperated as he feels. Nanette gives him a look.

“The storm,” she murmurs, gazing out the window again, this time at Dan’s house. “It is best to stay inside today.”

Phil’s a little sick of her telling him what’s _best_. Not only that, but the thunderstorm was yesterday. He sighs, not wanting to ask her any more questions. He knows he won’t really gain anything from it. 

It’s already well past noon as he pours himself a bowl of cereal for his sort-of-breakfast. He’d stayed up later than usual waiting to see if Dan would leave the night before. He mopes around the house after that, Nanette sipping her tea and flipping through leather-bound books in the same spot on the sofa. Momo follows on his heels the whole time, still as excitable as she was when he woke up. Eventually he gives in, grabbing some of her toys and kneeling on the floor of the lounge to play with her. If Nanette is bothered, she doesn’t show it. Another sip, another page turn.

He spends the afternoon rolling around with Momo on the floor, then asks Nanette if she’d mind him putting on a movie. She just waves her hand and goes to make more tea. Phil hasn’t seen her take a bathroom break once and it’s almost concerning, except most of the things Nanette does and says are just as strange. He settles in against the sofa, bum on the soft, fluffy throw rug and an equally soft, fluffy dog sprawled out by his legs. Nanette comes back with her tea and continues to read, even while the movie plays. Phil doesn’t question it.

Near the end of the movie, the sun begins to go down. Phil’s absent-mindedly petting Momo, enjoying a film he’s seen at least ten times before, and letting the stress of the morning melt away. The credits roll and he lets out a long breath through his nose. He gives Momo another pat as he rises, heading towards the kitchen for a snack.

Suddenly, something smacks against his arm.

“Ow, what the hell.” Phil looks around for what hit him, eyes falling on the bookcase stuffed with dusty, faded books to his right. There’s a gap in one of the rows—he scratches his head, noticing what had fallen down by his feet. The same worn book he’d pulled out the first day, the one with frighteningly detailed drawings is on the floor, open. He picks it up carefully, not wanting to damage something so old and frayed. The page it fell open to is the one of the humanoid creature with fur all over its body. A bipedal, canine-like beast. It glares at Phil through the page, like it could rise up through the ink and rip him to shreds.

A hand snatches the book out of his arms and he jerks back, surprised. Nanette slams it shut, holding it tightly to her chest.

“Why are you reading this?” she asks. Her eyes are sharp as daggers, cold as frost. Phil gestures to the ground, feeling caught out when he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“It just fell, I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to—”

At that moment, he hears the creak of Dan’s door opening. They both turn to the window to watch as Dan steps out. The sun has nearly gone down, and he should be in bed by now, so something is definitely off. Phil shifts, turning towards the back door.

“Philip,” Nanette says, a warning edge to her voice. He doesn’t care. Dan shuts his front door, wearing his black hooded cloak. He has the front buttoned all the way up, so it almost looks like a dress, and he’s… not wearing shoes? _What the hell?_

Dan then darts for the fence on the side of the house. He doesn’t have his lantern, he’s barefoot, and full on sprinting—Phil doesn’t know why, but he has to go after him.

“Philip, do _not_ leave this house,” Nanette practically shouts, her teacup clattering as she slams the book down on the coffee table.

“He’s in trouble,” Phil says, throwing on his shoes by the back door and running out through the garden. He races through the grass, ignoring the path entirely, hopping over bushes and flowerbeds. The wind is still whipping around him—if anything, it’s picked up even more. He can hear someone moving behind him. He knows he’s not in shape, but the thought of an old woman like Nanette catching up to him is bizarre. She’s moving a lot more quickly than someone her age should be, that much he can tell.

Pushing that thought out of his mind, he throws open the side gate. There are footprints in the mud leading away from the house, and he feels a rush of thankfulness for the rain yesterday. The mud clings to the bottom of his jeans and he can feel it through his shoes in his socks, but that doesn’t matter. He sprints through the trees around the house, faintly aware that he’s headed straight for the forest behind Aunt Charlotte’s home that Nanette very clearly told him to stay away from. He gathers up the last ounce of courage he has and keeps chasing Dan’s footprints. He can no longer hear Nanette, so he must have lost her.

He’s getting closer. He can hear ragged breathing ahead of him, the squelch of mud beneath feet.

Rounding a particularly large tree, he spots him. Dan is gripping on to a low-hanging branch of an ash tree, doubled over and breathing heavily. He can’t hear Dan breathing, as the wind howls through the leaves around them, but his chest is heaving. As Phil approaches, his head snaps up.

“ _Ugh_ ,” Dan growls. “I knew you were following me. You need to go back, Phil.” He stares icily into Phil’s eyes, and this time there is no mistaking it. His irises are a shimmering gold, a complement to the pinks and reds of the setting sun.

Phil is almost too captivated to respond. “N-no. Something’s wrong. Why are you out here?”

“That’s not important,” Dan says, his voice rising in irritation. “You need to _go back_.” Phil opens his mouth to argue, but a shadow begins to fall across Dan’s face. Immediately, he looks more afraid than Phil has ever seen him. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why can’t you listen?” he whispers, looking up towards the sky.

Phil does the same. The sun has nearly set, and the shadow of the night is falling over the forest. As if someone flipped a switch, the wind dies and the trees stand still. The two of them are blanketed in silence.

“Dan, I don’t understand—” He bites his tongue; suddenly, Dan rips the branch he was clinging to off the tree. Phil gapes at him. “How the hell… Dan…”

He drops it, his hands coming up to grasp at his face. A sound rips itself from his throat, something beyond a growl or a groan, something _animalistic_. His head tips back, his golden eyes fixated on the sky yet again, and there it is again. The full moon. The moonlight breaks through the trees, painting Dan’s tanned skin a milky white, and even in this moment Phil feels overwhelmed by how absolutely bewitching he is. Phil holds his breath, and then—

Dan’s body begins to shift. Impossibly, his legs grow even longer, his shoulders broader. The structure of his legs shifts in a way that makes Phil cover his eyes; if the way Dan is roaring indicates how it feels, it must be extremely painful. They’ve become canine-like in nature, like the hind legs of a… a wolf. Phil wants to slap himself awake.

His face morphs so he has a snout, and large, snapping teeth. The hair— _fur?_ —covering his body is brown like the hair atop his head. His black cloak is large enough that it didn’t rip off of his body, and now Phil understands why he didn’t wear anything else. It’s a distant thought, though. Phil can barely process what he’s seeing.

When it’s finally over, Dan is bent over, panting. He pushes air out through his nose, huffing in a way that reminds Phil too much of Momo.

“Dan?” Phil timidly asks. He gingerly takes a step forward. “Are you alright?” Although Dan has obviously undergone some intense physical transformation, part of Phil still expects him to respond like he normally would.

Instead, Dan just growls, lifting his eyes up to glare at Phil. There is no warmth, no light behind those eyes. Phil can barely think, but the illustration from the book in Aunt Charlotte’s house flashes in his mind. Dread settles in his chest like a rock; Dan has become that creature, somehow.

Phil is stunned, unable to move. He doesn’t know whether to run or not, even if he could move his legs, because it’s still _Dan_. Dan, who is pacing around in front of him, snarling and glaring. Dan, who bares his teeth at him, his eyes glinting in the moonlight.

Dan, who pounces at Phil and throws him on the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the part where i hope you guys really like fantasy because it's abt to get........weird. lol  
> my tumblr is [azurephil](https://azurephil.tumblr.com/), come say hey over there if you want!


	7. Chapter 7

Phil’s back hits the ground hard. Dan pins his arms painfully down into the mud with massive hands, claws digging into the earth to keep him there. Phil thrashes around, trying to free himself in some way, but Dan holds him down, snarling in his face. He’s growling under his breath like that of a threatened animal—and Phil supposes he is a threatened animal, right now. He doesn’t seem to know who Phil is; those golden eyes are glazed over with no spark of recognition in them.

“Dan,” he whispers, voice wobbling. “Dan. It’s me. It’s Phil. I’m your friend, I _care_ about you. Stop,” he pleads. Dan snaps his teeth at him and Phil quickly moves his head to the side to avoid being bitten, but it’s futile—sharp pain shoots through his shoulder as Dan’s teeth break the skin through his clothes. It stings, but it’s more like a nip than a deep bite as Dan rears back up again. His breaths come heavy over Phil’s face.

Phil wants to say something again to try and calm him down, but the words won’t come out. Dan raises one monstrous arm, claws outstretched and ready to slash at him, and Phil braces himself for the inevitable, his free arm coming up to cover his face. He grits his teeth and waits—and waits, and waits. He then notices his other arm is no longer pinned to the ground, that he can no longer feel the puffs of breath from Dan’s nostrils. He lifts his arm from his eyes and sits up, gasping.

Dan is backed up against a tree, claws digging into the wood behind him. His body is shaking, his head ducked. He’s cowering in fear, and Phil almost doesn’t want to see why. If a beast that strong and threatening is terrified like a dog with its tail between its legs, he almost doesn’t want to know what kind of creature has him so frightened. But his curiosity overrules, as always. So he follows Dan’s gaze, and what he finds is unlike anything he’s ever seen.

A woman slight in stature stands amongst the trees with her head high. Her dark hair falls over her shoulders in waves, flowers arranged in a crown atop her head. She wears a green silken dress, the fabric long and pooling at the forest floor, and it’s beautiful, it’s elegant, but Phil’s eyes are drawn to the _leaves._ The leaves that wrap around her throat, that trail down under her dress. They’re not tattoos, but rather vines that seem to grow out of her skin. She looks ethereal in the moonlight, like a spirit.

“Daniel,” she says, her voice resonating. Phil knows that voice but can’t place it. His ears are still ringing from when he hit the ground, and the forest looks like it’s breathing. Then again, for all he knows perhaps the trees are alive. He isn’t questioning anything he sees anymore.

“Run along,” the woman tells Dan, shooing him with a flick of her wrist. Dan whines and darts off into the forest.

“Wait,” Phil says a beat too late, his speech slurred. “Dan, no, wait.” He doesn’t even hear the woman step towards him, doesn’t realize she’s there until she’s crouching next to him.

“Let’s get you back home, now,” she says, and promptly picks him up. He flails a bit with the last of his strength, but ultimately is too weak to do anything but fall limp in her arms.

“Need to see Dan,” he whispers. She shakes her head above him.

“You cannot right now. After tonight…” The rest of whatever she says is lost on him as his eyes slip shut, falling deep into unconsciousness.

 

 

When he wakes, he’s not in his bed. He squints up at the ceiling, at the violet curtains over the windows. _Oh. I’m in the lounge._ He sits up on the sofa, grunting. His head feels like he’s been hit by a freight train, and his back is sore. There are small bandages on his arms; he reaches up to touch his face and feels one on his cheek as well. His shoulder is wrapped in a larger bandage, a dull ache radiating from it as he moves it around.

“Ah, you’re awake. Very good,” says a voice behind him. Nanette appears, holding a silver tray with a variety of breakfast foods on it, as well as a teacup. She sets it down on the table and turns to him, placing a hand on his forehead. “How are you feeling, _monsieur_?”

“I’m…wait.” Phil grabs her by the wrist, squinting his eyes at her face in deep concentration. He reaches up with his other hand, grabbing the hair tie holding her grey bun together, and she freezes. Her hair drops over her shoulders. “Oh my god,” he says, dropping her arm. “Oh my god, it was you.”

Older, and with grey hair, but Phil is sure without a shadow of a doubt that Nanette carried him out of that forest. Her voice when she called out to Dan was so familiar, but Phil’s brain was in a haze; this time, he’s certain. She sighs, rolling her eyes and snatching the hair tie back from him.

“Yes, it was. Answer my question.”

“I’m sore, but I’ll be fine. What—how? How did you do that, how did _Dan_ do that? What the hell is going on?” he demands, crossing his arms. Nanette just picks up the breakfast tray and plops it in his lap.

“Eat and I will tell you. Go on, _mangez_.” Phil bites into a piece of toast while she settles down into the moss-coloured armchair opposite him. “First of all, you must listen to me when I tell you not to do something. As I said before, this is for your safety. _Comprenez-vous_?” Phil nods, just wanting her to get on with it.

“There is a lot more to that forest than you think. And a lot more to Daniel and myself, but you have probably figured that out.”

“Yeah,” Phil says. “Is Dan okay? Is he still out there? Is he still…you know.”

“He is fine, do not worry. The transformation lasts for one night, during the full moon at sundown.”

“Why can’t he just stay inside, if the moon makes him, you know, do that?” Phil asks.

“It does not matter,” Nanette says. “At sundown during the full moon, he will become a wolf beast, no matter where he is. That is why he leaves for the forest at that time. He would rather not rip up the garden or his furniture. Quite a polite boy, I told you before.”

Phil sips the tea she made for him. It’s herbal and earthy, with a green tint to the water. It reminds him of the leaves sprouting from her body when she appeared amidst the trees the night before.

“What about you? You’re not—” _Human. She’s not human. Neither is Dan._ Phil’s brain feels a bit like it’s short-circuiting. Nanette purses her lips, staring at the wall.

“I am…well.” She sighs. “I did not expect to have this conversation with _Madame’s_ nephew,” she mutters. “I am what you would refer to as a tree spirit. I am tied to the largest tree in that forest, in the center. If it dies, I die as well.” Phil’s sure his eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his head. If he hadn’t seen it for himself, he’d think she was completely mental.

“You looked a lot different, though,” he says. Nanette nods.

“Out of the forest, my vines wilt and fall away from my body. And I am quite old, you see. When I step beyond those trees, my skin ages.” She folds her hands in her lap, her gaze falling on a framed photo of Aunt Charlotte on one of the bookshelves. “Out here, in this form, I can keep an eye on the only human who lives near the forest. Also, it is nice to have company.”

Phil tries not to grimace at “the only human,” remembering the way Dan screamed as his body shifted.

“So when you’re not here on the days you don’t clean…”

“I am in the forest. It is my home.”

“Who taught you French, then?” he asks. She coughs a surprised laugh. “What, it’s a valid question!”

“ _Votre tante_ ,” she says, smiling. Phil cocks his head in confusion. “Charlotte. It is a convenient backstory, actually. If guests ask about my family I just tell them they all live in France—though she does not have many guests. _Madame’s_ solitary lifestyle lends itself well to…keeping certain things secret.”

“Speaking of secrets, I thought you weren’t going to tell me any of this. You know, to keep me safe,” Phil says.

“It is a bit late for that. You’ve already been involved, you’ve already seen us in non-human forms, so there is no point in trying to keep this information from you.”

A silence settles over them and Phil sips more of his tea. He feels that even though he’s had some questions answered, there are so, so many more swimming around in his brain. Most of all, he wants to talk to Dan.

“Can I go and see him?” he asks quietly, staring down at his lap.

“Tomorrow would be best, Philip. He is resting,” Nanette says, standing up and patting his shoulder. “You could use some more rest yourself.”

After that, she takes his breakfast tray away and retreats into another corner of the house, presumably so he can get some more sleep. Instead, Phil gets up, stretching his sore limbs and stiff joints. The amount of pops and cracks he hears should probably be worrying at his age, but he shrugs it off. Stepping into the kitchen, he gets himself a glass of water and sits at the table.

Though he knows it’s best not to, Phil so badly wants to see Dan. He replays last night in his mind, sees his feet racing across the muddy ground, the scarlet hues of the setting sun breaking through the trees. Dan’s pained expression, the way he grit his teeth telling Phil to go back. And above all, Phil wishes he could have made it stop. That animalistic roar echoes over and over in his mind. He never wants to hear it again.

A tapping on the tiles behind him breaks through his thoughts and he gasps, whirling around in his chair.

“Momo! Hey, girl,” he coos at her as she sits herself in front of him, her tail thumping on the floor. “I hope you had a better night than I did.” She just licks at his knee and thumps her tail harder. He squishes her little face, thinking _yes, you deserve all the pets_ when he hears a knock.

They look up at the same time, Momo rushing over to the back door to bark at the visitor and Phil feeling petrified in his chair. Dan is standing at the door, pulling at his collar and shuffling his feet. Phil’s mouth is dry as he walks over to him, trying to meet his eyes through the glass, but Dan won’t look up at him. He opens the door; Momo darts around their legs and barks away.

“Hi Dan,” he breathes. Dan clears his throat. His eyes finally meet Phil’s after a long moment, and they’re red-rimmed and wet. “Dan, I—oof.” Dan stumbles forward into his chest, wrapping his arms around Phil and clutching tightly at his shirt. Phil doesn’t know what else to do besides hold him, and really, it’s all he’s been _wanting_ to do anyway. He holds Dan for a long while—minutes or hours, he’s not sure.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Dan says eventually, his voice choked. Phil strokes at his hair.

“I know you didn’t mean to,” he says. “It’s alright.”

Dan sniffs, straightening himself up and untangling their bodies. Phil doesn’t want to stop touching him. He cups Dan’s cheek and runs his thumb along his cheekbone, and Dan’s skin flushes hot.

“Shouldn’t you be resting right now? What’re you doing here?” Phil asks.

“I wasn’t—I couldn’t sleep. Usually I do after…that. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Phil blinks, heart pounding. “Um, I mean, I felt bad. Because I hurt you. I had to apologize,” Dan rambles, adjusting the curly mess on his head. It’s fluffier than usual, and Phil loves it so much. This boy is endlessly endearing. Though looking at him now sends a rush of sadness through Phil.

It pains him how frail and tired Dan looks, and it pains him how much he desperately likes him. Phil’s heart is heavy in his chest with the weight of his feelings for him.

“Can we talk about it?” Phil asks, preparing for the inevitable “no.” This seems, more than anything else, off-limits. Surprisingly, Dan nods.

“Yeah. I want to,” he says.

“Okay. Let’s go sit, then. We can go up to my room; Nanette probably won’t bother us.”

He offers his hand to Dan to lead him through the house and Dan takes it, smiling shyly up at Phil. He takes Dan up to his bedroom, as much as his body protests while climbing the stairs. Momo follows, making herself comfortable in front of the door outside the room. Once they’re sat on the bed, Dan lets out a long breath.

“Well, I guess you know everything now,” he says.

“Not everything,” Phil says, poking at his cheek. That dimple appears and he pokes it again. “I know about Nanette, and she told me you would be fine after last night, but that’s about it.” Dan nods and bites at his fingernail.

“Do you want to know?” he asks.

“I do. I told you last night, and maybe you don’t remember, but I care about you.” He fixes his eyes on Dan’s until Dan looks at him. Maybe it’s a little intense, but it’s true. “I want to know you. Beyond all the surface-level stuff.”

“I…I want you to know me too. I just don’t know if you’re ready to deal with all my crap. It’s a mess up there,” Dan says, tapping his head. “And there’s a lot to know.”

“I’m ready. Tell me all of it.” Phil leans back on his hands. Dan’s hunched over, making himself smaller like he did when they first met. He looks up at Phil.

“You’re strange,” he says.

“Thank you.” Phil nods proudly and Dan giggles.

“Shut up. I mean, I told you the day before last, but you really are kind.” He breaks eye contact and shifts a little on the bed. A little pink patch appears near his jaw and Phil melts just a little bit more. Dan is wringing his hands over and over in his lap, so Phil reaches over and grabs one in his own.

“Tell me everything. Please,” he murmurs. Dan scoots over so they can hold hands more comfortably, lining his shoulder up with Phil’s.

“Okay,” he breathes out, “this is what happened to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i probably should have made this disclaimer like. a while ago lol but i am not a native french speaker, so sorry if any of nanette's dialogue is totally wrong. also she's a dryad. surprise!
> 
> leave a comment if u would like to or just come yell at me abt ur feelings on [tumblr](https://azurephil.tumblr.com/) :~)


	8. Chapter 8

A door flies open, smacking into the plaster of the home it belongs to, rattling the finger-smudged windows on either side.

Dan stomps down the wooden steps of the porch, his beat-up shoes kicking up pebbles in the driveway. His fists clench and unclench and a tear slides down his nose. He angrily wipes it off, frustrated he let one slip out.

A rush of steps sounds behind him, stopping in the doorway.

“Daniel James,” a woman’s voice calls sharply, “come back this instant.”

“ _No_ ,” he shoots back. He won’t turn around, just keeps up a steady pace away from the home. “I can do what I want. Leave me alone, Grandma.”

“Fine,” his grandmother says, and he can picture her scowl, her crossed arms. “But you will _not_ enter that forest, Daniel.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he yells over his shoulder, throwing open the front gate. He stalks off the property, wandering down the dirt road away from his grandmother’s house. The clouds are dense, tightly packed in the sky like rows and rows of cotton. The air is cooler with the sun blocked out and Dan sticks his hands in his pockets. He swallows thickly and sniffles, remembering the disagreement he and his grandmother had only minutes before.

“None of them fucking _get_ it,” he says to the evening air. “Not Mum, not Dad, not even Grandma.” The wind caresses along his cheek, and he feels as though it’s listening. Like he’s not completely alone in the world.

“They don’t know what it’s like inside my head,” he says to the rustling trees along the road. “I’m miserable all the fucking time and they dismiss it like my feelings don’t mean anything. Just because I’m ‘young.’ Yeah right,” he spits, “I’m _fifteen_ and I’m practically more mature than they are.”

The road takes a right ahead of him, but Dan stops. If he were to continue straight ahead, not following the road…he’d be in the forest. The one that his grandmother warned him not to enter every time he came to visit for the summer, year after year. Of course he had trusted her and had never dared step off the path—she so vehemently instructed him never to set foot beyond that line of trees that even looking at them sent a shiver down his spine. Ever since he was a child, he feared trees because of her, even when he wasn’t near this particular forest.

He feels a rush of spite towards her and takes a step off the road.

It’s not just towards her, he thinks as he takes another step, then another. It’s spite towards every adult who never believes him when he says he’s miserable, to every insecure teenage boy that throws X-Acto knives at him in art class and calls him gay. _Like it’s a bad thing_. His throat feels tight again, but it’s not the time to cry. It’s time to prove a point.

He shudders as the trees appear thicker, closer together. Like they’re congregating, whispering amongst themselves exactly how they’ll take him apart piece by piece. He shakes his head, trying to calm his breathing down.

“They’re just trees, that’s stupid,” he hisses to himself. “She probably just didn’t want me to get attacked by a bear or something, but there’s nothing here. It’s fine.”

The farther he walks, the denser the foliage grows. The clouds overhead disperse somewhat and through the gaps in the trees he notices the sun hanging lower in the sky. He doesn’t want to go back, not now. He’s too stubbornly determined for that. It gets darker and darker, until—

It doesn’t. In fact, a light seems to emanate from within the heart of the forest, more visible now as night begins to fall. He nearly trips over logs and sidesteps toadstools, following the light like he doesn’t have a choice, like it’s pulling him along by the collar. The closer he gets, the trees are spaced out further and further, until they completely open up to a clearing. It’s not the edge of the forest, as more trees spread out on the opposite side.

In the center, though, there is a house.

Next to it, or rather practically growing out of it is a _massive_ tree—its branches snake up into the dark sky, far beyond any other treetop. The house seems to be built around it on one side, and it must be the most unusual house Dan has ever seen. Aside from the tree, the outside is an odd patchwork of wood paneling, brick, and stone. The chimney bends at an awkward angle, and there are more wild toadstools than grass lining the dirt path to the front door. There are even more mushrooms, the kind that typically grow on the bark of a tree, jutting out from the house. Dan doesn’t know how they’re sticking to the stone or brick, but as he gets closer he notices they’re glowing a light blue. _Better not touch those_.

He realizes where the light was coming from; there are lit candles practically everywhere he looks. On the ground, on the porch, on a mushroom or two, and if he squints he can see one on top of the roof. Flower pots fastened with chains hang from the edge of the roof over the porch, earthy-smelling herbs spilling out the sides and tickling Dan’s head as he steps up to the door.

He knocks on the old, splintering wood. No one answers, and the house appears to be dark from the inside. He peers through the window, though he knows it’s rude to snoop. He can’t see much, but there are more potted plants inside, and stacks of books covering the one table he can see. On the counter just under the window there are rows of round glass bottles, many of them sealed with cork at the top. The house is definitely unusual, but it looks lived in. _I can’t just break in and stay here,_ Dan thinks, sighing. He gazes at his reflection in the window, wondering if he should just go back. He spaces out staring at himself until he’s got double vision, two heads visible in the glass.

He blinks and focuses his eyes again, but the second head stays. And it’s not his.

Dan screams, spinning around to face the person behind him. She’s a woman with pretty features—a dainty nose, round eyes and long, dark eyelashes. She looks kind enough and for a moment his heart rate slows. That is, until he looks down past her face and sees her huge, disfigured claws. He gasps and trips over his own feet as he darts off the front porch away from the house. He hears a crash behind him and dares looking over his shoulder; she must have leaped after him, hitting the wall and knocking down plant pots. Her delicate features twist into something sinister as she shrieks, her eyes bulging out and long, sharp teeth jutting out from her mouth.

Dan’s heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of his chest as he races through the trees. Branches scratch at his face and shrubbery scrapes his ankles but he keeps running. Twigs snap and bark is ripped from trees behind him; she’s still hot on his trail, her screeching echoing throughout the forest. He falters for a moment, wondering how he’s going to get back to his grandmother’s house as he’s definitely lost, and trips over a log.

“Ow,” he groans, grabbing onto his leg. The rustling behind him gets closer and closer. “Oh fuck, oh no,” he mutters, head whipping around to find a place to hide, but it’s too late. The woman stalks up to him, staring down her nose at him on the ground. Dan tries to crawl backwards on his elbows, but she quickly bends down and plucks him up by the wrist with her claw-hand. Up close, her hair billowing out behind her has a purple sheen to it, her pale skin eerily translucent.

“For trespassing, boy, you will pay,” she hisses, leaning in close to his face. Her breath is foul and Dan thrashes about, trying to avoid her razor-sharp teeth. Her other hand comes up to grip his face to keep it still, and a scream bubbles up in his throat. _Oh God, please don’t eat me, holy shit—_

She opens her mouth, breathing _something_ into Dan’s. He can physically feel it, whatever it is, snaking down his throat and curling through his abdomen, running through every vein in his body. She drops him to the ground and he coughs violently.

“On this night of the moon cycle, for as long as you live, you will be cursed,” the woman says.

“What?” Dan chokes out, looking up at her, but she’s already gone. The lights in the distance from what Dan presumes is her home go out, and the forest is silent in the black of night.

He stumbles to his feet. Dazedly, he tries to pinpoint which direction his grandmother’s house is in, grabbing onto low-hanging branches to keep his balance. His head feels as though it’s full of cotton, the veins along his arms bulging, blood running hot through them. _What…what kind of drug did she give me?_ There’s a vignette around his vision, what little color he can make out in the dark fading to grey. Suddenly, pain shoots through his limbs more intensely than he’s ever experienced.

Dan falls to his knees, opening his mouth to scream but if he is, he can’t hear it. All he can hear is that woman’s voice echoing through his mind over and over, and it only grows louder as he tilts his head to the sky. _On this night of the moon cycle,_ she said. The full moon is clear through the trees, the only beacon of light for miles. Moonlight shines down on him like a spotlight, and his body begins to shift.

 

 

Dan groans when he comes to, pulling the blanket up higher over his eyes to block out the light from the window. He’s in bed at his grandmother’s house, he realizes as he snuggles in closer to his pillow. He sighs contentedly. After a few minutes, he sits up and rubs at his eyes.

“God, that was some weird lucid dream,” he mumbles sleepily.

“Is that what you think it was?” asks a voice near him, and he yelps, his eyes flying open. His grandmother is sitting on the edge of the bed, dark circles prominent under her eyes as she stares him down.

“Grandma?”

“You went in the forest, Dan. Just as I told you not to.” She sighs then, staring down at her lap. Dan’s head begins to spin, his memories of the night before coming back to him.

“So it wasn’t a dream,” he whispers.

“No. The witch cursed you, like I knew she would.” Grandma’s voice sounds choked, a frown twisting her usually kind face. Dan feels a wave of guilt overtake him. _I should have listened to her, damnit,_ he thinks, but he can’t verbalize it; his tongue feels heavy in his mouth.

“What happened to me?” He knows he must look like a deer in headlights. Dread settles in his veins and he almost feels like he’ll be sick.

“You became a beast, Dan. You made your way back here and collapsed in the garden.” _I don’t remember doing that._ “What did she say to you, exactly?” Dan recites the curse and his grandmother shakes her head, sighing. “So that will happen during every full moon. You realize what this means, don’t you?” Dan stares at her blankly. He doesn’t know.

“Grandma, you’re freaking me out. What is it?”

“You will have to stay here. The city is no place for a beast. But I am getting older,” she says, standing. “I cannot look after you. You’ll have to stay with a friend of mine on the other side of the forest; she can take better care of you there.”

“I have to stay out here for the rest of the summer?” Grandma can’t meet his eyes, and she looks so, so tired.

“No, Dan. For the rest of your life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how's that for a ~backstory chapter~
> 
> i'm not an expert on mythological creatures so even if lycanthropy isn't usually the result of a witch's curse......i'm just having fun out here. also i definitely was inspired by the left 4 dead "witch" with the claw-hands even though it's technically a zombie anyway did u know i have a [tumblr](https://azurephil.tumblr.com/)?


	9. Chapter 9

Dan takes a long, deep breath at the end of his story, holding Phil’s hand tightly.

“So after that…you started living with my aunt?”

“Yeah. She found it pretty annoying that she had to take care of a teenager, especially one who got himself into such a mess,” Dan says, somewhat bitterly. “She doesn’t hate me or anything, but I guess we both wish things were different.” Phil nods, stroking his thumb across Dan’s hand. A question he’s had for a while now pops up in his head.

“If it only happens once a month, where do you go when you leave at night?” Dan opens his mouth to answer but promptly shuts it, staring up at Phil with wide eyes.

“How do you know about that?” he asks. Phil laughs nervously.

“Oh yeah, uh…the first night I was here, I heard you close your door, so I looked out the window and saw you leave.” A blush spreads across his face. “I know that’s like, kind of creepy that I was watching you…” Dan snorts.

“Wow, perv.” Phil shoves his shoulder and he laughs harder. “I like to go on walks. I don’t love being cooped up in a place that I never asked to live in, you know.” He frowns, looking down at their joined hands and wiggling his fingers a bit. “Plus, I kind of like to keep a look out. For other people on the road, in case they’re thinking of going in the forest. I don’t want what happened to me to happen to anyone else.” Phil nods, sympathizing with him. _It’s really not fair,_ he thinks. _You deserve so much better than this._

They sit in a comfortable silence for a while, warm from their intertwining hands up through their touching shoulders. Dan leans his head on Phil’s shoulder; Phil’s heart would flutter at how cute that is, but the pressure stings and he hisses in pain. Dan quickly jerks back.

“Sorry! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s a little sore from last night.” Phil shoots him a smile. Dan brushes his hand lightly along Phil’s shoulder. “Do you remember doing that?” Phil asks.

“Yeah,” Dan murmurs. “I remember some things. I black out for most of it, but I couldn’t forget that.” He continues stroking along Phil’s shoulder. “Can I see?” he asks, looking up at Phil with those warm doe eyes.

“Um. Sure,” Phil says unconfidently. He grabs the back of his shirt and pulls it over his head, feeling exposed. Dan pets along the bandage again.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“I already told you it’s okay,” Phil says, just as quietly. The air is filled with tension around them, but it doesn’t make Phil uncomfortable. He feels anticipation shoot through his veins as Dan leans in closer. The rosy blush on Phil’s face spreads to his neck as Dan gently presses his lips to Phil’s shoulder.

“I know it doesn’t actually make it feel better, but…” he says, his lips brushing against Phil’s shoulder.

“No, it does,” Phil assures him quickly. “Trust me.” Dan’s smile is small but his eyes light up, and he kisses it again. Phil gently pushes his curls back from his face, twisting one in his fingers. “Actually, you know what really hurts?”

“What?”

“My mouth.” Dan blinks at him, then tips his head back in a full-bodied laugh.

“ _Smooth_ ,” he teases, his dimples on full display.

“You can’t blame me for trying—” He’s cut off as Dan leans in and presses his lips to Phil’s. He presses back, but it’s chaste, innocent. Dan pulls away for a moment.

“Okay?” he whispers. Phil nods, and Dan surges back in, the heat behind his kiss magnified. It feels like a flame is flickering between them, and when Phil cards his hand into Dan’s hair at the nape of his neck and pulls him closer, it roars. The birds chirping outside, the thump of Momo’s tail on the closed bedroom door, the leaves rustling in the breeze are practically mute compared to the heavy breathing filling Phil’s ears. They’ve long stopped holding hands, how long ago Phil isn’t sure, but he couldn’t keep his hands off Dan if he tried. Dan’s hand rests on his chest and Phil is all too aware of the fact that he’s shirtless as his fingers brush along the dark hair there.

He doesn’t even register when his back hits white sheets. It just feels like a natural progression, the weight of Dan’s hips across his thighs and his tongue caressing the roof of Phil’s mouth. Phil’s pale fingers skim along the seam of Dan’s dark jeans, finding a home in his back pockets. The fire licks along his teeth and sends sparks flying through his veins. When Dan finally rears back, his teeth are the last to let Phil go, pulling at his bottom lip.

“Does it feel better now?” he breathes.

“Does what feel better?” There’s a fog around Phil’s brain.

“Your mouth, duh,” Dan says, grinning. His hair is tousled and his shirt is disheveled and Phil wants him pressed up against his chest again.

“Not yet. Guess you’ll have to try harder.” Dan scoffs, but his grin doesn’t waver. He leans back down, and Phil gets lost in him again for God only knows how long.

 

 

Phil’s content to kiss Dan for all eternity, but at some point within the next hour they manage to pry themselves apart. It was after Phil began snaking a hand up Dan’s side under his shirt that Dan had backed off, a shy smile on his soft face. All of his skin is _so_ soft, and Phil wishes he could glide his palms along it until he knew every inch by heart, and then again and again until he’s satisfied (and he never would be). He knows when Dan shifts his legs off of Phil’s that they got a little ahead of themselves—he can feel it when Dan’s hips nudge his as he moves, a rush of blood running through his abdomen.

He can tell Dan feels it too, wide eyes pointedly staring at the wall and his already flushed face growing just that much darker.

The silence stretches for an awkward beat or two until Phil breaks, snickering behind his hand. Dan turns to smack him, faking annoyance, and stops himself before he hits Phil’s shoulder. He sucks in a deep breath.

“Dan, I told you—”

“It’s not that.” Phil searches his face, trying to understand what he means. Briefly, Dan’s irises flash to gold, just as they did a few afternoons ago in Dan’s bedroom. It’s a strangely intense expression he wears. Possessive, almost.

Knuckles rap on the door and they both jump. Phil scrambles to put his shirt back on and Dan runs a hand through his mussed curls.

“Philip, are you in here? You did not climb the stairs, did you? Open up, _monsieur_. I must check your bandages.” Nanette’s voice travels through the door and Phil sighs.

“I’ll see you later?” he asks. Dan cups his cheek, pecks him on the lips.

“I sure as fuck hope so.”

 

 

The following week is a dream, Phil’s sure. The bite on his shoulder continues to heal, and Dan comes over to the main house just as often as Phil goes to see him. He gives Phil plenty more bites and bruises—less severe, of course, and ten times more thrilling. Nanette tuts at the red and purple blossoms on his neck, but Phil can see her little grin when she turns away. They don’t go any farther than making out, but this thing they’re building is slow and sweet like honey, a pace that Phil has no qualms about.

He nearly forgets about Dan’s affliction, so wrapped up in his arms and his lips every day. It’s only when the sun goes down and the crescent moon appears nestled among the stars that he remembers. He pushes it down, though. The flutters of new infatuation are too strong to let that sliver of light in the sky ruin it all.

One night, Dan opens his door to go on his nightly walk to find Phil leaning over the balcony railing.

“Ah! Phil,” he whines, startled. Phil giggles.

“Hi,” he calls, wiggling his fingers.

“What are you doing up? Go to sleep.” It’s hard to tell with just the light from Dan’s lantern, but his mouth is twisted down in a frown. _He’s worried about me,_ Phil internally sighs. Even a frown on this boy’s face can melt his heart. Pretty much anything Dan does lately makes him feel like a puddle.

“I was waiting up for you,” Phil says. “I want to go with you.”

“Oh. Um.” Dan seems flustered. Phil wonders if he’s blushing. “Okay. Get down here, then.”

Phil grins, heading inside and rushing down the stairs, heart pounding. Dan is waiting for him in the garden, and when Phil comes up to him he immediately sets down his lantern, wrapping his arms around his neck. Phil’s hands rest on Dan’s waist like they were made to be there as he kisses him soundly.

“You’re stupid,” Dan mumbles against his mouth.

“Wow, thanks.”

“I mean for staying up this late. You’re gonna be exhausted.”

“Hm.” Phil pretends to think about it. “I don’t care,” he says, pecking Dan’s lips again.

Dan snorts, picking up his lantern and grabbing Phil’s hand. They exit out the side gate, fingers intertwined as they kick up dirt on the path away from Aunt Charlotte’s house. The glow of the lantern and the faint moonlight are all that illuminate the way in front of him, but Phil isn’t scared. For about five minutes, anyway. Then he has a thought.

“So, your grandmother lived on the other side of this forest?”

“Yep.”

“So that means…down that way…” Phil points ahead of them, to the clustered trees at the end of the road where it bends. “There’s a witch in there?” He really, truly is trying to be the braver, older one between him and Dan, but his voice raises about two octaves anyway. Dan, bless him, doesn’t poke fun at him. He nods solemnly.

“Yeah. But,” he says, “there’s a Nanette in there too.”

“Oh!” Phil perks up, feeling slightly less afraid. “Right, she mentioned that she lived in the forest.”

“In the biggest tree,” Dan says. “Well, technically.” Phil raises an eyebrow.

“Remember, I told you the witch’s house was connected to a massive tree?” Dan asks. Phil nods. “That’s Nanette’s home. Or it used to be, until that asshole parked herself right next to it.”

“Nanette can’t tell her to move? She seemed, you know, pretty intimidating when I saw her in there,” Phil says, confused. _She even scared you,_ he doesn’t say.

“She’ll die if the tree dies. The witch told her if she tries anything, she’ll just kill the tree with black magic or some shit.” He frustratedly kicks a rock away from the road. “So Nanette just stays away from her.”

“Jesus,” Phil breathes. “Can we go see her?” He imagines young-faced, leaf-covered Nanette perched on a tree branch, sipping tea and chatting to the woodland creatures.

“Who, Nanette? I’d rather not go in there at all, honestly.” Phil nods. It’s understandable. Dan probably wants to stay out of those trees if he can help it. He feels a bit bad for asking, not wanting to ruin the atmosphere they’ve created. He leans over and kisses Dan on the cheek.

“I think I’d rather just spend time with you, anyway,” he murmurs. In the low light he still sees those dimples pop out.

“Shut up,” Dan says, ducking his head. He’s all bravado when things are heated between them, but he gets embarrassed over the littlest things, and Phil revels in it. Painting Dan’s golden skin pink with sweet gestures is one of his new favourite things. “I don’t understand why,” Dan mumbles after a beat of quiet.

“Don’t understand what?”

“You. You wanting to spend time with me. You wanting me in general, I guess. It’s new,” he says, looking up at Phil. The crescent moon is reflected in his eyes. Phil doesn’t know what to say, so he acts; he brings Dan’s hand in his own to his lips. _All of this is new,_ Phil thinks. _The boy I want more than anything turns into a wolf beast once a month. He lives out in the country away from the rest of society and I’ve only got the summer with him—that’s new._

That revelation shocks Phil for a moment. He only has the summer with Dan. The forest looms ever closer as they walk and he suddenly has an urge to rip his heart out of his chest and run with it into the darkness. All the way to the witch’s house, to offer it at her door—whatever it takes, whatever she wants, just to have Dan a little longer. He’ll do it, he realizes with the strangest, strongest conviction. Dan’s soft, pleased little sigh as he kisses his knuckles is a catalyst, it fuels this feeling in his bones.

Whatever he must do to free Dan of this godforsaken curse, he will do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we love a honeymoon phase!  
> sorry i'm late on updating, senior year of college is already kicking my ass. also this was a difficult chapter to write anyway as i feel like i'm pretty shit at writing romance.  
> anyway, come say hayyyyy over on [tumblr](https://azurephil.tumblr.com/)


	10. Chapter 10

His conviction buzzes underneath his skin every time he sees Dan. His more-than-friend, not boyfriend, but _something_. His something. It warms Phil down to his toes, the trickle of syrup that is whatever they have between them, sugary-sweet and deliciously slow. And yet, a wide smile from Dan is a drop of a match on a trail of gasoline. A flame racing along his veins that may very well end in destruction—but it hasn’t yet. And that’s enough to push him forward, to shove the part of him that is unsure and afraid off the edge.

He finds himself lost in thought on how he’s going to save Dan over and over again. Like water in his ear, but he doesn’t feel a need to smack the side of his head to get it out. Back and forth, he contemplates confronting the witch alone. He doesn’t have a plan other than yelling through her door, “Hey, it would be great if you could get rid of that curse, thanks,” which would probably result in him being cursed himself. Or having his face eaten off. _Either way, not good._

A solution isn’t presenting itself as easily as Phil hoped, and he knows he could ask Nanette but considering _she_ won’t even face the witch, she most likely won’t be of much help. He can see the time winding down, visible in the phases of the moon. The closer it grows to a full circle, the less time he has until Dan’s next transformation. The less time left in the summer, the less time spent with Dan until Phil can come back— _but what if I can’t?_ The thought isn’t immediate, it’s one he files away in the back of his mind, yet it seeps into the forefront of his thoughts every now and then. Aunt Charlotte had been firm about not “meddling” in anything, as well as not bothering Dan. He’s already gone against her wishes, so what if she never wants him to return?

He won’t leave Dan alone out here. He’s certain about that, at least.

Dan gives him odd looks sometimes, like he can tell Phil’s caught up in his own thoughts, but he hasn’t said anything yet. Maybe he, like Phil, doesn’t want to pop the bubble of bliss they’ve found themselves in. Phil feels a rush of relief each time Dan chooses not to comment on his unusual behavior, though he knows he can’t avoid the inevitable conversation forever.

The moon is somewhere near half-full in the sky on a day when Nanette’s not there, and Dan and Phil have the main house to themselves. Dan had scavenged through Phil’s things to find the handheld games Phil brought with him and is curled up on Phil’s side, eyes fixed on the little screen and his head on Phil’s chest. Phil’s got his nose in a book, his arm around Dan’s narrow shoulders. Every few minutes he can’t help but press his lips to cocoa-coloured curls.

Silence is comfortable with Dan. It’s a new concept; Phil usually feels an anxious need to fill the quiet when he’s with others, aside from his family. He’s not a very talkative person, but it’s awkward to not have anything to say. With Dan, it’s different. With Dan, _everything_ is different, of course. A charming melody and occasional tinny chirps sound from the game he’s playing, and Phil recognizes it as Pokémon.

Five, twenty minutes, maybe an hour passes before Dan speaks up.

“Are you okay?” he asks, fingers still pressing at the buttons. He seems nonchalant. Phil is definitely not.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Dan sighs, twisting his neck up to look Phil in the eye, “you’ve been acting weird.”

“Oh.” Phil coughs. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Nothing to worry about.” Dan squints at him for a long moment, then goes back to playing his game.

Phil runs a hand through Dan’s hair while he reads, flipping page after page. He gets through another chapter of his book, starting to really get invested when Dan speaks again.

“Adrian likes this game,” he says, and it’s quiet enough that Phil doesn’t really know if it was meant for him to hear.

“Who’s that?” Phil asks, stroking along Dan’s scalp tenderly.

“My brother.” That throws Phil for a loop. He wasn’t aware until now that Dan _had_ a brother. He’d mentioned his parents and his grandmother, but never a sibling.

“Is he younger than you?” Dan nods.

“He’s just a kid.” He puts the game down for a minute, staring off into space. Phil doesn’t push him. He tries to keep reading his book but gives up after reading the same line five times. He doesn’t know if Dan has anything else to say about his family, but he’s holding his breath anyway.

“He didn’t really understand what was happening when I left. My family comes to visit a few times a year, but…kids grow fast. I don’t know how tall he is right now.” It seems like an odd, simple thing to focus on, the height of his younger brother, but Phil understands. Dan’s eyebrows knit together and he picks at the hem of his shirt; if he hadn’t spent so much time with Dan recently Phil probably wouldn’t have noticed the subtle shift in his voice. It’s thicker, croakier than before. He sets his book aside and wraps his other arm around Dan, holding him tight.

“Were you good friends?” he asks quietly, gently.

“Not really,” Dan whispers back. “We’re pretty different, actually. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

“I can tell you do. I’m sure he can tell, too.” Dan just shakes his head and buries his face closer to Phil’s chest.

“It’s more complicated than that. With everyone in my family, not just him. We all care, I guess, but we’re shit at showing it.” Phil can’t exactly relate, but he sympathizes anyway, bringing his hands up to hold Dan’s face. He presses his lips to Dan’s, and it still dumbfounds him how they fit together like a lock and key.

“It’ll get better,” he murmurs. “With them, and with everything.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” He doesn’t, as of right now. _But I’ll make it happen._

A half-smile melts its way onto Dan’s face, though his eyes are tired. He properly climbs into Phil’s lap, his legs bracketing Phil’s hips. Phil doesn’t know what to expect when Dan leans in closer, but as he nudges his nose against Phil’s neck and wraps his arms around his waist, Phil knows exactly what he needs. He holds Dan close for as long as he needs to be held, then longer, because it’s so hard for either of them to let go.

Even when Dan sits up again he can’t tear himself away completely, kissing Phil softly once, twice, three times…eventually Phil loses count. It’s worth it, wasting time on this sofa—it’s what summer should be, hot but comfortable, getting lost in doing something you love so much and turning the alarm clocks over because you don’t _need_ them; there are no deadlines, no commitments, no interruptions. No moon hanging over Phil’s head, swinging like a pendulum.

“Hm,” Dan mumbles against his jawline, trailing a finger down his Adam’s apple, “I think I’m running out of room.” Faded bruises litter Phil’s neck, his collarbones, his uninjured shoulder. Most of them are nearly gone, but Dan can see them; he’s the artist, after all, and Phil’s skin is his canvas. There’s plenty more room to paint him, if Dan wanted to find it. _You could always try my thighs,_ he wants to say. But not now. Not yet.

Dan finds a spot on Phil’s neck untouched by his teeth and bites. Phil sighs softly, hands gripping at Dan’s arms. They lose track of time like this, always. The sun was high in the sky when they first settled into the sofa cushions, but it’s considerably lower now and the back garden is bathed in shadow.

Phil’s in a daze by the time they’ve calmed down. He’s laying down, long legs pushing up against one end of the sofa and Dan snuggled up on top of him. He listens to Dan’s breathing even out as they cuddle and feels like he might fall asleep as well. His eyes flick around the room, falling on the novel he’d set aside. His mind begins to wander, his train of thought drifting from that book to his other favorite stories. He starts to doze, his thought process continuing in that paint-splatter, technicolor way it does when sleep creeps in. The image of Nanette reading on that very same sofa flashes through his mind, and then the scene changes.

He’s in her place, sitting up on the sofa. Nanette hovers over him with her arms crossed; her deep frown making him vaguely uncomfortable. She’s in her “human” form, but there are leaves snaking around her skin. A few tables and chairs are stuck to the ceiling and there are vines curling all over the walls. Phil stares at the toadstools sprouting from the television with wide eyes, jumping in surprise when a book falls from above into his lap. It’s _the_ book, opened to the page with the wolf beast illustration. The pages fly on their own, flipping to one that Phil had only glanced at on the first day. It’s hazy within his dream, but he recognizes the shape of a woman with mangled claws. They seem to grow closer, and Phil wonders if he might be imagining it until a sharp claw rips through the paper, tearing it down the middle. Nanette grabs the book then and slams it shut.

Phil wakes up, gasping. Dan sniffles on his chest and snuggles in closer. Chest heaving, Phil’s eyes shoot over to the bookcase behind the sofa. His eyes lock onto the familiar faded spine and he sighs, his entire body deflating. He kisses Dan’s forehead and resolves to look over it later.

He knows Dan is onto him. _But I want to do this myself._ He feels like maybe asking Dan why he’s never tried to cure himself would be a little too personal—or perhaps Dan has tried and came up with nothing. Either way, it must be a sore spot. Aunt Charlotte told him to stay out of business that isn’t his, Nanette told him she was keeping all of this a secret for his protection, and from the very beginning Dan’s grandmother had been warning her grandson about the forest. He’s playing with fire, here, but it will be worth it.

“For you,” he whispers into Dan’s hair. “For us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like i have to apologize if irl family mentions make anyone uncomfortable??? sorry. it (very likely) won't come up in the story again though.  
> if you would like to leave a comment or follow me on [tumblr](https://azurephil.tumblr.com/) that would be v nice thank u <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***important note*** the rating of this fic has changed! hope u are all ready for some Spice.
> 
> as i said at the beginning of this fic, this story was entirely inspired by howl by florence + the machine. i would def recommend listening to it while reading this chapter.

Phil flips through the musty-smelling pages, squinting down at unfamiliar letters. He sighs, fighting the urge to throw it across his bedroom.

He’s been trying to sneak some time in to look over The Book over the past couple days, but Dan has been glued to his side nearly the entire time. Not that he’s complaining—spending time with Dan is all he wants to do, aside from figuring out how to remove a witch’s curse. Since they fell asleep on the sofa together, Dan has been staying over in the main house, sleeping in Phil’s bed. Phil’s sleep schedule is royally screwed at this point, as he stays up and wakes up later to match Dan’s. It’s too tempting to let him go when he needs to sleep; Phil would much rather cuddle and fall asleep with him.

He has to strategically put the book back on its shelf when he knows Nanette will be there to clean, as well. The first time, he practically vaulted over the couch to shove it in the bookcase when he heard her coming up the steps. _If I nearly get caught by her again, my heart will give out,_ he had thought, grasping at his chest.

As it’s written in a strange, most likely inhuman language, Phil has no idea what exactly he’s reading. He pores over it, studying each illustration in detail, but nothing comes to him. He’s given up looking at the photos of the witch and the wolf beast; he’s started going through the whole thing from cover to cover to see what he can find.

It’s what he’s doing now, sat on his bed and turning the pages. He’d finally convinced Dan to have some time apart, just for a little while. He’d told him he was feeling under the weather and that he should probably stay inside rather than join Dan in the garden. Dan had given him a look, reminiscent of the look his own mother gives him when he’s less-than-honest, but just told him to get some rest. Whether Dan truly believes him or not isn’t Phil’s top priority right now.

“Phil!” A voice and footsteps travel up the staircase and Phil tosses the book under his bed, wincing at the loud thump. With his luck he’s broken it, somehow.

The footsteps soften on carpet and stop, Dan’s head poking in his doorway. Phil tries to match his soft expression, knowing he must look like a murderer who didn’t have time to effectively hide a body. He wipes his sweaty hands on the sheets, rubbing off the metaphorical blood.

“Hey you,” Dan says, smile unwavering. If he notices, he’s not showing it.

“Hi.” His voice is weak and mousy, which he supposes isn’t a bad thing if he’s trying to pretend to feel ill. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m done tending the garden, duh,” Dan scoffs, “and you’re not feeling well. Do you need anything?” His confidence drops a bit when he asks, his gaze falling to his feet.

“I’m alright,” Phil says. “Though I wouldn’t mind a cuddle.” Dan laughs, fondly rolling his eyes.

“You never mind a cuddle.” He’s not wrong. If Phil could koala-hug soft things for the rest of his life, he’d be very content.

Dan turns the bedside lamp off and crawls across the bed, making himself comfortable against the pillows and under the covers. Phil settles up against his side and Dan wraps an arm around him.

“You should try getting some sleep,” Dan murmurs. Phil nods, wishing he could express how incredibly not tired he is at the moment. Anxiety flutters under his skin, even worse as time passes and the sun sets through the windows. At some point Dan’s head droops down to rest atop Phil’s, his body relaxing as he drifts into sleep. Phil wishes he could join him there, a dream world where they would never concern themselves with dark magic and shadowy forests ever again.

Unease builds in the back of Phil’s mind, where he pushes all his worries and fears. _I’m running out of time_ , he repeats to himself, a mantra each night when the moon rises. This night is no different.

He quietly shifts Dan’s arm off of him, squirming out of his reach until he can slip out of bed. Dan sighs, moving around a bit and Phil freezes until he settles. His young face is smushed into the pillow beneath his head and it tugs at Phil’s heartstrings. It gives him the push he needs to crouch down, pick up the book underneath the bed, and head downstairs to do some studying.

He curses the creak of the stairs as he descends, gasping as he nearly trips over one of Momo’s toys in the lounge. He switches on a lamp, illuminating the darkness with warm light. He sinks into the couch cushions and opens the book to the last page he was on. A humanoid figure is stood next to a mushroom, and he’s not sure if it’s a very tiny person or a very large mushroom. Its eyes are completely black and it seems to lack reproductive organs; it’s bare other than strange markings all along its skin. There are thin little wings sprouting from its back, not unlike a fairy, but it doesn’t exactly look like Tinkerbell. All in all, a very interesting creature, but probably unhelpful. Just like most of the illustrations in this book. He flips the page.

His eyes widen; now _this_ looks interesting. It’s not a creature, this time, but a necklace. On the chain is an intricately detailed pendant shaped like a vial. Inside the glass is a small plant, and though none of the pictures in the book are in color it’s shaded so that it appears to be glowing. The metal wiring wrapping around the pendant twists and curls with painstaking care. It’s very pretty, certainly, but seeing as it’s a necklace, that must mean it belongs to someone. _I wonder…_ Phil begins to flip through the pages, seeking out one in particular—

“Phil?”

He nearly jumps out of his skin, yelling. The book flies up in his lap and he catches it, stuffing it between himself and the couch.

“Uh, hey Dan,” he wheezes out, smiling slightly too wide.

“If you were really sick, you’d be in bed right now.” Dan looks less than pleased, crossing his arms. “And what is that? A book? I don’t care if you’re reading steamy romance novels, Phil, you don’t have to hide it from me.”

“Um. I’m not reading anything,” Phil says, his hands starting to sweat.

“Okay, first of all, you’re a terrible liar. Second, I literally just saw you reading a book.”

Dan makes his way over to the couch and Phil tries to inconspicuously scoot over to cover the book. Dan rolls his eyes, yanking it out from behind him and examining it. He furrows his brow at the ineligible title, opening it and flipping through the pages.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, stopping on one. “That’s—where the hell did you even get this?”

“Aunt Charlotte had it over there,” Phil says, pointing to the bookcase.

“Well, I’m not surprised she never really let me in here,” Dan mutters. “This is literally a picture of what I turn into…but you already knew that, didn’t you?” He turns a few more pages and yelps, dropping the book into Phil’s lap. It’s open to the page with the witch illustration. Phil looks up at Dan with sympathy in his eyes. The poor thing looks absolutely terrified—and for good reason, if he hasn’t seen her in three years.

“Why are you reading that?” he asks, timidly.

“I…” Phil lets out a shaky breath. “I was trying to look for a way to help you. You know, to get rid of the curse. I didn’t tell you or Nanette because I thought you guys would tell me…not to…” He trails off quietly. Dan’s face goes through a range of emotions while he speaks, from terrified to touched to completely blank. “Dan?”

Dan doesn’t move for a moment, but when he does—the book is thrown off of Phil’s lap, and deceptively thin, yet incredibly strong arms grab him and pull him up. Dan pushes him until he’s got his back against the wall, Dan pinning him there with hands on either side of his head. His blank expression has caught fire, his irises a flaming gold. In the quiet of the night, Phil hears the wall crack next to his ears, and he dares to turn his head and look. His breath catches, seeing Dan’s nails stretched and pointed, digging into the wall.

“Dan, I’m really sorry if I made you angry,” Phil says, somewhat frantically. Dan has never hurt him before, aside from on the full moon, when he wasn’t in control of himself. He _should_ be in control now, but it looks like he’s in some in-between state. Not quite a beast, but there’s a wild look in his eyes. Dan tips his chin up, forcing Phil to look him in the eye.

“Not angry,” he growls. Phil’s eyes focus on his mouth, on his elongated canines. “Look at me.” Phil does. “You want to cure me. Why?”

“I care about you,” he whispers. “You’re special, not just to me, but to lots of people, I’m sure. You deserve to live a normal life.”

Dan’s lips brush his cheek, his ear. He breathes heavy against Phil, lightly running his nails—claws?—on Phil’s chest. “You’re special to me, too,” he says against the shell of Phil’s ear. His claws catch suddenly, tearing holes in Phil’s shirt. Phil doesn’t have time to protest about his ruined clothing before Dan is ripping it from his body. Phil gapes at his shirt on the ground until Dan grabs his face, looking straight at him. There’s a possessive look in his eyes, and Phil feels like he would do anything Dan wants in this moment.

“I’m going to wreck you,” Dan rasps, “and make you mine.”

He drags his teeth down Phil’s neck, careful not to sink them too far into his flesh, licking a stripe hotly against his skin. His hands grasp at Phil’s sides, tightly at his hips. A whine escapes Phil’s throat and Dan is there, kissing him as fiercely as he can with his fangs in the way. It’s perfect, though, when they catch on Phil’s lip, when his claws dig a little too hard into the flesh of Phil’s hips. It’s everything Phil wants, and he knows in this moment Dan will never stop giving.

He grasps weakly at Dan’s shirt and Dan removes his grip on Phil to rip it off, diving back in to suck at Phil’s neck. He works his way down, kissing at his collarbones and briefly stopping on his nipples, licking one and brushing the other under his thumb. Phil gasps, throwing his head back against the wall, and Dan laughs, darkly and lowly. The blood rushes through his abdomen with a swoop, his hips lifting up from the wall.

“That’s nice, then?” Dan asks, a single claw trailing up the bulge in his pajamas. Phil covers his face and nods, embarrassed. Dan sucks at his nipples, one at a time, his thumbs tracing circles on Phil’s hips. Phil comes apart in front of him, too overwhelmed to do anything but let out little whines. Dan rises up again, tapping his finger on the waistband of Phil’s pajamas.

“Off.” Phil shivers, pushing them down his legs. Dan hurriedly steps out of his own sweats, kicking them away. He backs Phil up against the wall again, skimming his hands down his thighs. He grabs the back of Phil’s legs, lifting him up, and Phil’s in such a daze he isn’t even surprised. He loops his arms around Dan’s neck, opening his mouth invitingly when Dan leans in again. They’re close enough now, joined together against the wall, that he can feel Dan brushing against him through their pants. He wonders if his hands are blue—all the blood in his body seems to have rushed south. He can feel his cock straining, the tip poking up past the waistband of his pants as he ruts up against Dan.

Dan only ruts back, any semblance of control he had lost. Neither of them have the sense to remove their pants—there’s no holding back, now. Dan’s heartbeat is erratic against his own and he feels it through his veins, in his blood. The pounding of his heart, the panting against his ear, the bucking of his hips. It’s all so much. His legs cross at the ankle behind Dan, giving Dan’s hands the freedom to grip at his back. He growls, sucking harshly at Phil’s neck and scratching red, angry lines down past his shoulder blades. Phil’s fair skin must be covered in bites and scratches, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He _needs_ it this way, needs to feel like Dan is marking him.

Phil can feel it building, vividly feels the pump of blood to their hearts pick up in speed. Dan’s moans are deep and guttural, so unlike what Phil expected he’d sound like, but he gets the feeling this isn’t what Dan is normally like during sex. He’s been affected by Phil, some feral switch set off within him. The full moon transforms him into a wolf beast, Phil knows. But this is not the beast the witch intended him to become.

This is the beast Phil has made of him.

Phil cries out, an arm wrapped around Dan’s shoulders and his other hand buried in his hair as he comes. Dan gasps, grunting as his hips stutter against Phil’s. Phil feels it on his own pants, feels a bit of come land on his stomach. He doesn’t know, or frankly care who it belongs to. Dan’s head drops on his shoulder and Phil’s arms wrap him up in a hug, though they feel like jelly. Dan holds him back, his palms lightly running over the scratches on Phil’s back. He can’t feel the claws anymore; they must be gone.

He feels like he could fall asleep here standing up. He nearly starts to do just that, resting his weight on Dan when Dan pulls away to look him in the eye.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” he says, smiling wide. His teeth are back to normal, his eyes that gorgeous shade of brown again. Phil can’t help but kiss him.

“Can’t help it. You’re soft.” Dan gives him a once-over, sucking in a quick breath.

“Jesus, I did a number on you. Sorry,” he whispers, gently touching the red marks he sees. Phil shakes his head.

“I wanted it. I’d do it again, actually,” he says. Dan lays a hand on his cheek.

“That’s good,” he murmurs, “but I still feel kind of guilty. Let’s go to bed, yeah?” Hand-in-hand, they return to Phil’s bedroom, shucking their pants off and climbing into bed. Phil cuddles Dan from behind, pecking gently at his neck.

“So, um. What did you think about me, you know, looking through that book?” he asks, holding his breath.

“Honestly?” Dan sighs. “It's the most meaningful thing anyone’s ever done for me.” Phil squeezes him tighter.

“I just want you to be happy,” Phil says, touching his forehead to Dan’s neck.

“I am happy, now that you’re here.” A warm, fizzy feeling explodes in Phil’s chest. “As for that book…we can talk about it more in the morning.” Phil nods, secretly grateful Dan’s put off that conversation for now. The tides of sleep are rolling in, taking him with in their waves.

He dreams of the forest that night, of glowing pendants hanging from the tree limbs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is probably the spiciest thing i've ever written and compared to many fics, it's pretty tame haha. i don't anticipate there will be any more sex scenes, if you are concerned about that.  
> leave a comment if u so desire, or check out my [tumblr!](https://azurephil.tumblr.com/)


	12. Chapter 12

Phil blinks his eyes open slowly. His blurry vision focuses as much as it can on the white curtains of his bedroom, on the sunlight filtering through. It keeps his attention for a while, until he rolls over, and nothing can capture his attention more than this—the sight of Dan snuggled up close to Phil’s side, his arms gently holding onto his pillow. He’s breathing deeply, softly in his sleep. The light through the cracks in the curtains paints a golden stripe across his face.

Phil could watch this scene forever; he records it in his mind, a tape he can press rewind on again and again. Before last night, he might have found it creepy, watching someone while they sleep. But he and Dan feel connected now, in a different way than before. He raises his arm, brushing the hair back from Dan’s forehead, and it feels almost involuntary. Natural. _That’s it,_ he thinks. This is natural, waking up next to Dan, completely bare bodies nestled beside each other. It’s something he wouldn’t mind doing every morning from now on.

Dan scrunches up his sweet, sleepy face, inhaling deeply. On the exhale, his lashes flutter.

“Wake up,” Phil says, his voice deep and raspy with sleep. Dan opens his eyes and pouts.

“Tired,” he whines. Phil chuckles at him, petting his hair back again. He raises himself up on his elbow, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to Dan’s mouth. One kiss turns into a second, then a third. Dan’s hands find his shoulders and glide up into his hair.

Eventually, no matter how difficult it is to tear himself away, Phil leans back, smiling widely at Dan’s grabby hands and childish whines. He gets out of bed and Dan does too, though not without complaining. As much as Phil wants to spend the day in bed with him, they have things to do, things to talk about. His mouth sets in a determined line, his mind set on figuring out this curse business today, when he realizes something important.

He and Dan have climbed out of bed completely naked. Dan meets his eye and blushes. The silence stretches for a moment until they both break, giggling. Phil opens a dresser drawer and tosses a pair of pants at Dan’s face. He finds some clothes in his wardrobe to wear, handing a shirt and sweats to Dan, as well.

“Smells like you,” Dan says.

“You didn’t even sniff it.”

“Oh. I don’t have to, I guess. You know, heightened sense of smell and all that.” Dan slips the shirt over his head and a little flower blooms in Phil’s heart, seeing him wearing his clothes.

“Even when you’re not…”

“A wolf-thing. Yeah,” Dan says. He steps into the bathroom to check himself in the mirror and gasps.

“What?” Phil calls, still shimmying into his jeans.

“You have a straightener! I haven’t straightened my hair in years.”

“Why’d you stop?” Phil asks.

“No one even sees me out here in the middle of nowhere, so I kind of stopped caring.” Phil nods, even though Dan can’t see him through the wall. Dan comes back out, grabbing Phil’s hand when he hasn’t even got his zipper up all the way. He stumbles out of the room, pulling it up and following Dan’s lead. “I’m hungry,” Dan says, and Phil rolls his eyes.

He drags Phil downstairs and snorts when they get to the lounge.

“What?” Phil asks. Dan raises an eyebrow, gesturing to the pile of clothes on the floor.

“We kind of left this place a mess,” he says. Phil waves a hand in the air, unconcerned.

“It’s fine. We can pick it up later.” He heads for the kitchen and Dan barks a laugh behind him.

“How messy is your room at home, Phil?” Dan asks, and Phil can hear his smirk.

“Uh, it’s perfectly clean, thank you.” It, in fact, is not. He recalls the night before he left for Aunt Charlotte’s, his mum tutting at the underwear on the floor of his room.

Arms encircle his waist as he opens the cupboard to grab some cereal. Dan kisses at his neck, gentle where he had sucked harshly the night before. “I totally believe that,” he murmurs, smiling against Phil’s skin.

They sit at the table with their bowls, comfortable silence falling over them. _Natural_ echoes in Phil’s mind. He lets it wash over him, lets himself imagine so many mornings-after, Dan in Phil’s clothes and eating breakfast across from him. The soft natural light falling over his curls, the way he hunches a little bit over his bowl. This is what he wants, he decides. Removing the curse is just a stepping stone to _this_. Phil catches his eye and Dan’s eyes crinkle, his cute little dimples popping out. He’s a precious human being, who deserves more than what he’s got.

“So,” Dan says, breaking the silence. “Last night was…”

“It was.” Phil grins. “Not that I didn’t love it, but what happened to you, Dan?”

“I don’t know. It was weird, like, I was completely conscious and aware of everything happening, but it felt like something just…came over me.” He takes a long breath. “Like I needed it.”

Phil understands that perfectly—the need, the animalistic urge. _You said you would make me yours,_ he doesn’t say. _And you did._ He had felt like he belonged to Dan in that moment. He still does, and that’s natural, too.

“I felt like I needed it too,” he says. Dan smiles softly at him and swirls his spoon around in the milk. Fondness rolls off of him in waves and it’s contagious. Phil stares right back at him until his cereal goes soggy.

After they’re done, Phil takes the bowls to the sink and pauses.

“Phil?” Dan tries getting his attention after a long moment. Phil turns, resting against the counter.

“We need to talk about the book,” he says. Dan’s eyes widen.

“Oh shit, right. Did you find anything in there?” Dan asks.

“Well—” Phil steps into the lounge for a moment, grabbing the book that was haphazardly thrown on the ground last night. He returns to the kitchen and sets it on the table in front of Dan. He turns the pages until he finds the necklace with the vial pendant. “I thought this looked familiar,” he says. Dan frowns at it, tracing a finger across the illustration, down the slope of the small glass bottle.

“It does,” Dan says, quietly.

“So I was thinking, where have I seen this before? I might be wrong, but…” Phil hurriedly flips to the page about the witch, noticing Dan cringe in the corner of his eye. “Sorry. But look!” He points to the witch’s neck, at the tiny necklace wrapped around it. The picture on the necklace page is definitely magnified, as it’s really so small it’s hard to see. It’s practically a choker, the thin chain and small pendant merely outlined in this illustration. The plant inside that vial must be the size of a fingernail.

“Jesus,” Dan breathes. “that’s it, alright.” He looks up at Phil and neither of them know what to say for a long moment.

“I can’t read this, but I feel like if her necklace has its own page it’s got to be important. Right?” Phil asks. Dan bites at his nail, pulling his legs up to hold onto his knees.

“Yeah, probably. Maybe Nanette can read it,” he suggests. Phil shakes his head, sighing.

“I don’t think she wants me to look at this book, honestly. The last time she saw me with it she took it away from me.” Dan continues gnawing at his finger, his eyes focused intently on the witch picture. “Unless you think she’d want to help us get rid of the curse. I didn’t think she’d be for it,” Phil says.

“Only one way to find out, I guess.”

 

 

Their strategy on locating Nanette isn’t the most efficient, Phil is aware. And if there’s one way to agitate that witch, though she may be farther in the forest, it would probably be two young men screaming at the trees for their tree spirit friend to come out.

He’d have waited for her to show up and clean the next day, but the moon is so close to full that he doesn’t want to wait. If he can prevent Dan from ever going through the pain of that transformation again, he’ll do it, even if it means walking down a dirt road in the summer sun, yelling up into the trees lining the way.

“ _Nanette_ ,” Phil calls, his hands cupping his mouth, “we need your help.”

“Nan—” Dan starts to yell for her, but stops, a giggling fit overtaking him. “This is so dumb,” he says, laughing and wiping his eyes.

“It’s not dumb,” Phil pouts. “She’ll come out. _Nanette_!”

Suddenly, something hard hits Phil on the side of the head. It falls to the ground and he picks it up; it’s some kind of strange tree nut, oddly shaped and a bright shade of green.

“Shut up,” a voice calls from high above. Briefly he wonders if it’s the voice of God, who has probably had enough of his and Dan’s shenanigans, until he looks up. There Nanette sits, her legs crossed and the flowing fabric of her dress hanging down from the branch she’s perched on. “What do you want?” she asks, clearly exasperated.

“Can you help us with something?” Phil calls up to her.

“That depends. What is it? An emergency?”

“Yeah, kind of,” Dan chimes in.

“Do you know how to read the words in this book?” Phil holds it up for her to see. He can see her surprised face all the way from the ground. She stands, hopping down from tree branch to tree branch. On solid earth, she strides up to them. The further she steps from the line of trees, the more her hair fades to grey, the more lines appear on her skin. She looks middle-aged, now.

“Perhaps I do,” she says, holding out a hand. Phil hands the book to her without question. “Why is this an emergency?”

“We think there’s some clues in there that’ll tell us how to get rid of Dan’s curse. But we can’t read it, so…” Phil goes quiet, unsure of how she’ll react to that. It’s not the anger he was expecting: Nanette looks positively _alarmed_. She clutches the book to her chest, looking between him and Dan.

“You want to—ugh.” She drags a hand over her face. “Fine. We will discuss this at the house, not out here. Come,” she says, not bothering to look back as she marches down the road.

Her hair completely fades to grey as she walks, age spots popping up on her skin. Her dress shrinks in length and shifts to black.

“I can’t believe she’s helping us,” Phil whispers to Dan. He smacks his hands on Dan’s shoulder excitedly.

“I know,” Dan says. “Thanks, Nanette.”

“Do not thank me,” she mutters. Quite a few feet ahead on the road, it’s hard to hear her. Her shoulders hunch over as she walks, the muscles of her arms straining as she grips the book tightly.

“Why not?” Dan asks.

“No matter if I ‘help’ you or not, attempting to do what you are thinking of is suicide.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i'm late on updating again, i might be late for sunday's update too but i'll do my best. life is A Lot right now.  
> also if this chapter ended awkwardly it's because i've been trying to work on this between homework for the past two days and i should be asleep right now but i wanted to get it up. everything is Fine  
> come say hey over on [tumblr](https://azurephil.tumblr.com/) pals


	13. Chapter 13

Phil has never been so thrilled, yet so terrified to see a book.

It rests on the kitchen table, unopened. Phil, Dan, and Nanette sit around the table, all silent and staring at its frayed cover. Nanette takes a deep breath.

“What page did you want me to look at?” she says quietly. She’s frowning, not meeting either of their eyes, even when they look up at her.

“Uh, let me—” Phil fumbles with the book, turning the pages to the witch illustration. “So she’s got that little necklace, right, and over here…” He flips back to the page with the blown up, detailed image of the necklace and its pendant. “I’m pretty sure it’s the same one. And if it has its own page, it has to be important, right?” Nanette doesn’t answer him. She pulls the book towards her and squints down at the strange letters. Phil’s unending curiosity pokes and prods at him to ask, _what language is that?_ , but he won’t, not right now. She needs to focus.

Her fingers ghost along the letters and she mumbles incoherently under her breath. Incoherent to Phil, anyway—if he knew the language her words would be clear as day, he’s sure. Nanette’s eyes scan across line after line, squinting more and more until they snap open. She grabs one end of the book and the pages flutter back to the witch. It’s another quiet minute of her scanning the page until she sighs, closing the book. She slides it toward herself, almost protectively. Like she doesn’t want Dan or Phil to grab hold of it.

“What does it say?” Dan asks, timidly.

She doesn’t meet his eyes. “It is hers,” she rasps out after a long moment. Tension radiates off of her. Her hands hesitate to let the book go, to rest in her lap instead; she clenches her fists as soon as she breaks her grip on it. Her brow furrowed and her bottom lip worried between her teeth, she looks like she’d rather not be having this conversation at all. Phil’s sure she’d much rather be sat in a tree right now, and a pang of sympathy runs through him. His feelings for Dan, his desires for that _natural_ , beautiful future with him override it, though. Nanette opens and shuts her mouth multiple times. Her brain working out exactly how to word what she says next is visible in the way she falters.

“It is hers,” she repeats, softer this time. “If you destroy it… she will die.”

Phil’s face breaks out into a huge grin and he excitedly grabs Dan’s hand under the table.

“That’s perfect! We can get rid of her for good, then—"

“ _But_ ,” Nanette snaps, her sharp voice cutting through the air, cutting Phil off. Dan’s hand squeezes his a little harder. “Even if you kill her, I do not know what will happen to Daniel. It does not mention here what will happen to those she has cursed after she is gone.”

Dan nods, and his grip on Phil’s hand is borderline painful now. He’s tense, too, all the way up through his hunched shoulders. Nanette’s words hang in the air for a long moment.

“But…” Phil whispers, “shouldn’t we at least try?” He looks up pleadingly at the older woman across the table. “You told me on my first day here that I should do what I think is right. And I know you told me to be careful of the forest, but still. I want to do what I feel is right.” He sits up a little straighter, pulls his shoulders back and taps his chest. “It feels right, in here. I know you don’t like the idea, but I’m going to do it. Even if it’s impossible, or ‘suicide.’ I have to do it, for Dan.”

He expects her to laugh at him, or tell him he’s an idiot. But maybe there was something in the way he stood up for himself, the way he looked her in the eye, the way his voice shook with emotion that makes her soften. The tension drains out of her as she fixes Phil with a look he can only recognize as affection. It’s a mirror of the look his mother gives him when she tells him she’s proud of him.

“You are mad, Philip. Just like her,” Nanette murmurs. She stands up and dusts off her dress. “Very well, then. When will we go?”

Phil splutters. “Um—”

“You’re going?” Dan asks, incredulous. Nanette purses her lips.

“Of course! Charlotte would have my head if I let anything happen to you. That witch is powerful,” she says. “Not to mention, the bitch stole my house from me.”

Phil looks at Dan, grinning, and Dan grins right back.

“My transformation is tomorrow. Maybe we could wait until then,” Dan says. Phil and Nanette’s eyebrows shoot up in unison and he quickly speaks before they can say anything. “Wait, listen, I feel like I’ll be able to control myself! I’ve been getting better at it.”

“Then why did you attack Philip last time?” Nanette asks, crossing her arms. A flush creeps across Dan’s face and he averts his eyes, staring at the wall.

“Well. I was kind of…I don’t know, emotional?” he mutters. Phil smirks, poking him in the side. Not seeing it coming, Dan yelps and Phil giggles at him.

“You were worried about me,” Phil teases. Face flaming, Dan shoves his hands away.

“Shut up! Anyway, it’ll be fine. I might not remember everything afterwards, but in the moment, I’ll be in control. I promise.”

Nanette sighs, but fondly. “Alright. We need a plan, though. I will go ahead of you and distract her.”

“Alone?” Phil squeaks. “Nanette…” She reaches for him, placing a hand gently on his shoulder.

“Not to worry, _monsieur_. I will be fine, so long as you hurry to catch her while she’s occupied with me. You will need to grab that necklace of hers,” Nanette instructs the two of them. “Can you do that?” They both nod hurriedly. She gives them both a soft smile and pats Phil’s shoulder.

“If we do this,” Dan says, “how will I know if it worked? Do you think I’ll have to wait until next month to see if I don’t turn into a beast again?” Nanette taps her chin and hums as she thinks.

“…Possibly.” Dan’s face falls. “I am sorry, Daniel. We will have to wait and see.” Dan stares down at his lap stubbornly.

“You sound like my mum,” he mutters. Nanette chuckles and adjusts the collar of her dress.

“I will be going now, boys. I’ll be back tomorrow evening so we can go together. Be sure to rest up,” she says, and pats Phil’s shoulder one more time. He sends her off with an awkward wave as she turns to leave out the back door—and then it’s just him and Dan.

Phil sighs, leaning back in his chair, his head lolling over to stare at the boy next to him. Dan looks down into his eyes, his own half-lidded. Phil can feel the air brush across his face as Dan breathes. Dan’s eyelashes are so long, and they flutter as Phil lifts a hand up to comb through the curls atop his head. Phil doesn’t count the seconds, the minutes they spend looking at each other. He just knows he wants to have this time with Dan. He wants all the time he can get— _if what Nanette says is true…we may not make it out of there._ He pushes that thought aside by stretching his neck up to softly kiss Dan’s lips.

“What do you want to do today?” Dan whispers against his mouth. Phil knows that “today” means “what might be our last day.” But he can tell Dan is pushing those thoughts away, too, by the strain in his voice and desperate glint in his eyes.

“We could play a game,” Phil says. Dan grabs the hand running through his hair and brings it to his lips, nodding.

 

 

Sinking far into the sofa in Dan’s house, a massive grin on his face and a game controller in his hands, Phil feels like he’s been here before. And he has, not too long ago, but it feels like a lifetime to him. This time, though, Dan’s thigh rests against his own, and occasionally between Mario Kart races he gets a kiss or two. He relishes in it, in the affection between them, as the unspoken threat of tomorrow hangs in the air. They both feel it. If Phil makes a joke about Dan being a sore winner with a tremor in his voice, and Dan presses his mouth against Phil’s a little too hard, neither of them comment on it.

Tomorrow is approaching far too soon, Phil realizes. His bravado from earlier has melted away to the underlying anxiety he’s felt the whole time, but the grin stays plastered on his face. _For Dan. That’s what I said_ , he reminds himself. _I can’t freak out now._

He hears his name and jerks up from where he’s slouched into the cushions. Dan is staring at him quizzically, and Phil suddenly is aware of the fact that he’d been spaced out while thinking about the next day.

“Uh…sorry, what?” he asks, playing with his hair nervously. Dan leans back and raises his eyebrows.

“You’re worried about it, aren’t you?”

“About what? I’m not worried about anything.” Phil knows he’s obvious when he lies, and he knows that _Dan_ knows that, but he gives it his best effort anyway.

It doesn’t work, of course. Dan looks at him as if to say, _you’re a dumbass,_ but his eyes soften anyway. “It’ll be alright, I think. I can’t say for sure, but…with the three of us, I think we might do it.” Dan pets a hand along his knee, finding Phil’s hand and holding it tenderly. As anxious as he gets thinking about Dan’s future—their future—Phil feels a rush of thankfulness for him. Even if Dan doesn’t completely believe what he’s telling Phil, he still wants to comfort him. Dan’s words and his touch are like a balm on Phil’s worries.

“If it had just been you against the witch like you originally planned, well.” Dan chews on his lip, eyes focused on their hands. “I don’t know what would have happened. We have a chance, now,” he says, determined. Phil feels an urge to pull him in and kiss him, hard. Not to mask his fears, but because Dan alleviated them. He’s not usually forceful like that, but… _fuck it_ , Phil tells himself. He pulls his hand out of Dan’s grip and wraps it around the back of his neck, the other cupping his cheek. His mouth crashes into Dan’s, startling a little noise out of him. Phil drinks it up, licking between Dan’s lips.

Dan responds quickly after the initial shock, fisting his hands into Phil’s shirt, and they forget about reality for a while.

At some point, Dan gets his legs wrapped around Phil’s hips. Phil’s more concerned with Dan’s hips, though, and the way they move in circles against him, the way Dan whines when Phil grips them hard enough. He grinds up when Dan grinds down, and bites at Dan’s plush lower lip. Phil notices Dan speeding up and holds his hips down. He doesn’t want a repeat of last night.

“Phil,” Dan groans.

“Yeah?” Phil rubs his palm over the bulge in Dan’s sweats and Dan bucks up into it.

“I need—I…” He whines again, his head dropping onto Phil’s shoulder. He breathes heavy onto Phil’s neck.

“I know,” Phil whispers. His hands slides up Dan’s thighs and under them, picking him up for a second before turning and plopping him down in the same position Phil had been in on the couch. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” he says, and pulls Dan’s sweats down his legs. His pants follow, and then Phil has what he wants right in front of him as he kneels down. Dan’s thighs clench and tremble under his hands. Phil leans in, tongue sweeping up the head. He looks up at Dan, who’s biting his lip so hard it looks borderline painful.

Phil doesn’t know exactly what Dan likes, not yet, but whatever he’s doing seems to work. Dan’s loud, and he bucks up into Phil’s mouth unexpectedly, and Phil’s mouth is sore by the end of it, but it’s worth it. It’s worth it to see Dan’s head fly back against the couch, to hear him gasp when it hits him, to swallow the taste of him down. It doesn’t matter that it’s not the best taste. It’s Dan, and Dan is _his_ in this moment.

Dan’s body has gone floppy like gelatin and he’s so tired he’s slurring his words, but he still shoves his hand into Phil’s pants to return the favor. It may be uncoordinated, but still mind-blowing, and Phil couldn’t ask for anything better.

“I don’t think I can physically sink any deeper into this sofa,” Phil says lazily, cuddling up against Dan’s side. “If I did, I think I’d become part of it. Like, morph into the sofa.”

“What the hell are you on about?” Dan asks, moments away from sleep. Phil shakes his head, though he isn’t sure if Dan’s eyes are open to see it. He glances up; they’re not.

“Turn the lamp off,” Phil says. He grins against Dan’s neck, his own eyelids fighting to stay open. Dan grumbles and throws a hand up blindly to yank at the chain on the lamp. Bathed in darkness, Phil holds him and breathes out deeply.

“We’re going to do it,” he murmurs. He doesn’t expect a response—Dan’s breathing has already evened out. But a hand finds his slung across Dan’s waist and holds on tight, and Phil knows they feel the same.

Tomorrow, they’re going to kill a witch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhh so. sorry i disappeared for over 3 weeks, definitely didn't intend on doing that. midterms hit me hard man. and then i felt a little unsure of how to proceed with this story and the last few chapters, so i hit a bit of writer's block. but we're back in business now!  
> i know i said i probably wasn't going to write more spicy scenes. i lied. there was some spice.  
> also: i have a [tumblr](https://azurephil.tumblr.com/) u can follow if that's a thing u wanna do? you can send me a message over there orrrrr leave a comment or whatevs. have a nice day.


	14. Chapter 14

They sleep in the next morning. Phil wishes he could spend the entire day cuddled up next to Dan, breathing in his scent deeply, nose pressed to the back of his neck. But he knows he can’t—they have something far more important to do.

Dan sits up on the couch, his cheeks puffy from sleep and his eyes blinking slowly. His hair is a curly mess, but it suits him, Phil thinks. Dan could probably be bald and it would suit him. _Wait, now I’m imagining it. That’s weird._ Phil wipes the sleep from his eyes and tries to shake that image from his mind. It half-works, and he only snickers a little bit, which earns him a side-eye from Dan.

“Weirdo,” Dan mumbles, poking his cheek. “Let’s eat something, I’m hungry.”

The fridge in Dan’s house is pitifully stocked, so they walk back to the main house for breakfast.

“It’s time for lunch,” Phil says. His hand is warm and comfortable in Dan’s on their walk. The cherry trees overhead are gorgeous, but he can’t stop picturing the shiny fruit as drops of blood. A shiver runs through him. He hopes Dan doesn’t notice.

“Yeah, but it’s breakfast ‘cause it’s the first meal of the day for us. That’s how it works. So you have to make me breakfast food,” Dan says matter-of-factly. Phil smiles gently; he won’t even playfully argue with that, not today. He’s going to give Dan whatever he wants, and make it an amazing day. Just in case.

He finds his gaze wandering back up to the cherries and catches himself, fixing his eyes on the ground. Last night, in a post-sex blissful haze, he’d been certain that everything would be fine. Anxiety creeps up on him as the minutes pass, though. He wants to believe his own words. He wants to believe in himself, Dan and Nanette. But the little voice in his head that says _you’re not going to make it out of there_ makes him shudder. It sounds just like the voice that told him to _turn back_ on the first day, the whisper of the wind through the trees forewarning him of trouble ahead. Maybe that’s something the witch can do, too—perhaps she can slither her way through his ears into his brain and make him doubt himself. _Or maybe it’s just me,_ he wonders.

Pressing ‘mute’ on the voice for now, Phil puts his limited cooking skills to use and makes them some toast and scrambled eggs. Dan sits quietly at the table and picks at his nails until Phil sets a plate in front of him. Phil sits down across from him, feeling Dan’s eyes on him while he does so.

“You know, we don’t have to avoid talking about it,” Dan says. Phil nods and picks at his eggs.

“I know. I’m just…”

“Scared?” Sneaking a glance up at Dan, his eyes are soft and his smile warm. Phil doesn’t know why he expected to be judged. Evidently, that’s not the sort of person Dan is.

“Sort of, yeah. Aren’t you?” Phil asks.

“I told you yesterday, I think we have a chance. Besides, life’s been shit up until now.” He takes a massive bite of his toast, and Phil wonders distractedly if having a huge mouth is on the list of Beast Side Effects. He realizes Dan is still talking. And smirking at him. “Are you paying attention to me? Life’s been shit, Phil. I haven’t had anything good for like, three years. Might as well give it a shot, if it’ll get rid of this stupid curse.”

“Yeah. Then you’ll get to leave here, and…” Phil nervously picks at his eggs some more.

“And?”

“And after I leave for the summer, you can still see me,” he says, quietly. Dan’s silent for a moment and Phil really doesn’t want to be looking at him, but he has to. He needs to know what Dan thinks of them still seeing each other, once this is all over. Dan blinks, and a dusting of pink creeps across his cheeks. He braces his hands on the table and leans over to kiss Phil on the mouth. He settles back in his seat with a tiny grin, reserved but so obviously pleased.

“I want that so much,” Dan whispers.

“So let’s make sure we do this right, then. We’ll get rid of that curse.” A wave of confidence falls over Phil and he eats the rest of his food quickly. Dan snorts watching him, but does the same.

 

 

Dan waters the plants in the back garden for a while and Phil keeps him company, idly commenting on all the flowers.

“You know, I wish I was good at taking care of plants. What do they call it, having green fingers or something? Like, I’ve tried in the past but they just die,” Phil rambles. Dan looks at him amusedly and resumes watering some delicate-looking pink tulips. “How do you do it, Dan?”

“Hmm, well. You just learn what to do, after a while. I didn’t really have a choice,” Dan says. “This is the job your aunt gave me. I had to do it right if I was going to live here.”

“Do you _like_ taking care of the plants, though?” Phil asks. Dan shrugs.

“It’s alright, I guess. Let’s go back inside,” he says, changing the subject quickly. Phil’s learned by now not to press him for information. Dan will talk about it when he wants to, _if_ he wants to, and that’s fine.

He puts his tools away and Phil slips his hand into Dan’s as they walk back.

“We’ve only got a couple more hours,” Phil says.

“I know,” Dan whispers. He stares off into the distance, at the trees surrounding the house. “Nanette will be here soon.”

“What do you want to do in the meantime?”

“Can we maybe just, like—I don’t know. Sit and talk or something?” Dan squeezes his hand and leans his weight on Phil’s shoulder, looking up into his eyes. Phil can see the vulnerability, the hint of desperation for this last sliver of normality before they do something completely insane. Dan may say he has faith in their ability to kill this witch, but Phil thinks it might just be surface-level bravado. At least partially, anyway. Objectively, they _are_ going to do something extremely dangerous—if Dan just wants to talk, to get his mind off of it for a little while, Phil can do that.

“Of course we can,” Phil murmurs.

Momo trots up to them as they enter the main house again. She must have been napping earlier, Phil supposes. Dan immediately drops to his knees to cuddle her and Phil’s heart falls right out of his chest into a puddle on the floor. After many pets and much cooing, they move from the doorway to the couch, Momo making herself right at home with her head on Dan’s lap.

“I don’t get to see her much, usually. Right, girl?” Dan says in a baby voice to her, scratching behind her ears. Phil touches his hand, gets his attention. He waits until Dan’s eyes are on him.

“What did you want to talk about, Dan?” Dan cuddles up to Phil’s side, and his warmth with the dog next to them is a little much for the middle of summer, but Phil doesn’t mind.

“Can you tell me more about…your life back home? Your house, your family, stuff like that,” Dan mumbles into his chest. So Phil does. He tells him all about what he and his older brother used to get up to as kids, about the home movies he used to make with his friends, about his pet rabbit. About his mum’s superstition and her hatred for cigarettes, and about the gaudy, bright wallpaper of his bedroom. Dan’s eyes slip closed, but he’s not sleeping. He’s imagining it all, Phil can tell. Phil imagines it too, what Dan would look like sitting on the messy floor in his room, amongst all Phil’s things like he belongs there. Because he does, in a way. He deserves to leave this place, to visit Phil’s home and see it all for himself. Phil can picture him sprawling his long limbs across Phil’s bed like a starfish, the light from the window filtering in along his pretty face. He knows his mum would love Dan. He _knows_.

His eyes burn and he squeezes them shut. It’s not long now until he can make that imagination a reality. And if he fails, if they fail…the thought of it is a dull ache in his chest.

Though it feels like it’s only been minutes since they sat down, Phil doesn’t have any more time to think about failure.

The back door opens.

Dan shifts next to him, probably to look over the back of the sofa. Phil has to take a long, deep breath before he opens his eyes.

“Are you ready, boys?” Nanette asks, her somber figure looming over them. The sun is setting and the lights are off; her face is bathed in shadow. Phil glances at Dan, who nods. Phil feels like his neck is creaking as he, too, nods at Nanette.

She places a hand on both of their heads as they stare up at her. “Then it is time,” she murmurs. “Let’s go.”

Phil slips his shoes on while Dan quickly changes into his cloak in the next room. He wants to avoid Nanette’s eyes, to take off his shoes and snuggle up with Dan again, but she’s smiling at him so gently and before he knows it, Dan is grabbing his hand and they’re all filing out the backdoor. It feels like he blinked; one moment he’s holding the boy he cares so much for, and the next he’s out in the warm summer air, preparing himself to fight a witch.

It almost doesn’t feel real, for a moment. _I’m walking with a tree spirit and a wolf beast to a witch’s house in the woods._ Phil spaces out, contemplating what the hell is _actually_ going on in his life right now. A hand squeezing his own brings him back to Earth. Dan isn’t looking at him; rather, he’s determinedly staring ahead of them, squinting against the setting sun. Nanette’s appearance has shifted, her elegant gown sweeping along the forest floor without a speck of dirt on it. Her shiny, dark hair swishes while she walks.

“So after I transform,” Dan says, loud enough for Nanette in front of them to hear, “you’ll go ahead of us and mess with her. Then we come in and take the necklace, right?”

“Exactly, Daniel,” she answers. “The sun has almost set, are you ready?”

“ _Oui_ ,” Dan calls. Phil swears he can hear Nanette snort.

The three of them stand together under the trees with bated breath. The sun sinks lower, and lower, until a shadow begins to fall over the forest. Dan takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly. Nanette gives him a look, an eyebrow raised. He smiles at her, jerking his head in the opposite direction than the one they came. An odd expression passes over her face, some amalgamation of worry and the look Phil’s mother gives him when she says she loves him. She reaches out to pinch Dan’s chin, and the shadow drops completely. Immersed in darkness, Phil knows what happens next.

“I will see you there,” Nanette whispers, and turns to climb swiftly up the nearest tree. Phil can’t see it, but he can hear her leaping from branch to branch until she’s too far away.

His attention snaps back to Dan when he hears the first growl. Instinctively, he takes a step back, watching as Dan begins to hunch over. The full moon is bright overhead, breaking through the leaves and painting a pattern over them both.

“You have to trust me,” Dan rasps. “I p-promise I won’t…hurt you.” Phil just stares, wide-eyed, because he does have faith in Dan—but the memory of last time, of being knocked to the ground and snarled at, replays in his mind. He has to shut his eyes eventually, cringing at Dan’s bones popping and shifting. He cowers back against a tree trunk and scratches his nails into the bark until it stings. A minute or two passes and the shifting bones and howling in pain have ceased. He tentatively opens one eye, then gasps, opening the other.

Dan stands, waiting, in front of him. He is most certainly a beast, his snout (and teeth, many teeth, _big_ teeth, Phil remembers) not even a foot from Phil’s face. He cocks his head, and it’s sort of cute. Mostly because it’s Dan, not because his beast form is cute. It’s rather intimidating, actually, and Phil feels like he might wet himself staring into his eyes, but the fear dissipates when Dan pokes his snout into Phil’s cheek. He even grunts a little, something higher-pitched and almost whiny.

“Yeah, you’re still you,” Phil sighs, patting the thick brown fur on Dan’s face. “What should we do now? Nanette is gonna need us soon.”

Dan turns away from Phil and sits his back legs on the ground. When Phil doesn’t do anything, he whines again, using one giant hand to point at his back.

“Oh, you want me to ride on your back?” Dan shimmies around impatiently, growling a little louder than he was whining before. “Okay, okay, I understand,” Phil says, and climbs onto Dan’s back. Phil is about the same height as Dan is normally, and they’re both rather tall. In this form, Dan is well over six feet tall, and Phil is able to sit on his back without crushing him.

“Alright, Dan,” Phil says confidently, patting him on the back. “Let’s go kill ourselves a witch.” Dan hops up excitedly, jerking Phil around and causing him to latch onto Dan tighter. “Oh my god.” Phil chokes out a laugh. “I get motion sickness, you know.” Dan stops wiggling around, looking behind himself at Phil with a glare. He grunts, and Phil assumes that means, “You better not puke on me.”

Phil pats him again, gesturing forwards, and they’re off. Dan takes a few seconds to build up speed as he runs, his large feet thumping along the ground. A distant light in the forest grows brighter and brighter, and Phil knows _exactly_ what that means. Just before the source of the light comes into view, they hear a voice call to them from above. Dan skids to a halt, Phil falling forward face-first in the fluff on his back. He groans, craning his neck to look above them.

“Boys,” Nanette hisses from the closest branch, “wait. She is just beyond this line of trees.”

“The light is coming from her house, isn’t it?” Phil asks.

“Yes,” she whispers. “I will go distract her. You watch me from back here, then while she’s distracted, you’ll jump on her.” She points to Dan, and he tilts his head. “Yes, you,” she sighs. “You would do a better job at that than Philip, no?”

“You _are_ huge,” Phil points out. Dan glares at him, huffing some air through his nose.

“Not the time for banter, Philip,” Nanette hisses. “We only have one chance to do this, unless you want to come back next month.” Phil shakes his head. “Good. I’m going now. Get ready!”

She hops from one branch to the next, until she’s standing in the clearing—the front yard of the witch’s house, essentially. Phil creeps up to the edge of the clearing, staying out of sight. Dan does the same and peeks his head out above Phil’s. Phil can feel how tense he is, how uneven his breathing is. Phil was cracking jokes a minute before— _because it still doesn’t feel real_ —but now, he can’t focus on anything but this.

Everything fades to slow motion as Nanette approaches the witch’s house. Her flowing dress, the flowers atop her head, the strange patchwork nature of the house, all of it just seems two dimensional. Like a picture from a child’s storybook jumped right off the page. All of the details from Dan’s story of his first transformation unfold in front of Phil’s eyes—the toadstools, the potted plants, the _giant_ tree attached to the witch’s house, the flickering candles surrounding her home. He never doubted that Dan was telling the truth, but to see it for himself, well. It’s dreamlike.

As Nanette approaches the front porch, the tree starts to rustle above her. It’s completely bare, devoid of leaves and out of place in the middle of summer. But as she walks, leaves begin to pop up on the branches. Wildflowers sprout from the ground around her, mushrooms falling to the dirt in piles of dust.

“Knock, knock,” she calls from the bottom of the steps. Phil sharply sucks in a breath and holds it. If his fingers weren’t shaking, he’d cross them.

Phil doesn’t breathe for a while, it feels like, until the doorknob turns. “Dan,” he says, to steady him, to ready him, to comfort him, he’s not sure. He glances up for a second; Dan’s breathing is quick and shallow, his eyes glued to the scene in front of them. When Phil turns back around, someone is opening the door and stepping out.

The witch is not at all what Phil anticipated. She doesn’t look like the picture in the book. But, Phil remembers, Dan did describe her as a pretty woman. And pretty she is. Phil thinks he can see her long eyelashes from here, her small frame and gentle expression making her appear unintimidating. He knows that’s all for show, that she’s a predator camouflaging herself to trap her prey. As soon as she spots Nanette, the mask falls. Her mouth stretches into a wicked smile, the light of the candles glinting off her long teeth.

“Why are you here, dryad?” the witch sneers, stepping closer to Nanette and down the steps of the porch. Nanette immediately backs up, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. The witch begins to circle her, clasping her hands behind her back. As well as she can, anyway. Phil shudders at the size of her huge claws and tries not to imagine them ripping him to shreds.

“I’m here to take back my home, _witch_.” Nanette’s voice resonates throughout the clearing. She sounds so confident. Her hands are still fidgeting. The witch scoffs, her condescending grin sinking into a grimace. Those innocent-seeming eyes are far too wide as she glares; they bulge out like they do in the photo from Aunt Charlotte’s book.

“You can try, but you will fail—” Her words are cut off as two vines shoot up from the soil beneath their feet, one wrapping around her wrist and the other pulling tight around her neck. Nanette steps back, predicting the witch’s next move, evidently, as she shrieks and thrashes around violently. She breaks free of the vines’ hold and lunges for Nanette. More and more vines fly up from the ground, scratching against the witch’s skin and holding her back.

“What’s she doing?” Phil hisses to Dan, and gets a whine in return. “When should we run in? The witch seems distracted…”

Nanette continues stepping back as the witch draws nearer and nearer to her, until her back hits a tree. The witch is screeching in fury, her eyes fully bulging out and her razor-sharp teeth jutting out from her mouth. She tears an arm free from the vines wrapped around it and uses her claws to rip any other vines away, skulking up to Nanette. Phil gasps as she grips onto Nanette and throws her to the ground, halfway across the clearing. He starts to move, but Dan grabs his arm and pulls him back.

“What the hell, Dan? She might die!” Dan just shakes his head, as if to say _not yet_. He gestures with his big, furry hand over to the witch.

She’s smirking down at Nanette, and Phil expects the worst—he doesn’t want to see Nanette’s face get eaten off or her body torn to shreds, and he feels like he might be sick until the witch turns her back to Nanette. She reaches a hand out to the massive tree; a branch from the very top falls to the ground in a pile of ash. Nanette groans from where she’s sprawled on the forest floor, struggling to lift her body.

Phil sucks in a breath. “She’s killing the tree,” he whispers. It’s just as Dan had told him: if Nanette ever tried to reclaim her home, the witch would kill the tree with black magic, killing Nanette herself. Nanette’s strong, and has magic of her own, which kept the witch off of her for a while. But harming the tree incapacitates her, drains her of all her strength. He’s not sure if the witch is going to actually kill the tree, or just drain Nanette until she can go over and violently murder her herself. _Either way, that’s_ not _going to happen._

Dan taps him, nodding towards the witch. Her back is turned as she focuses on draining the tree with her magic. It’s now or never.

“Okay, let’s go,” Phil breathes. Dan leads the way, creeping out from behind the line of trees surrounding the clearing. Phil follows him quietly, at least as quietly as his giant, uncoordinated body can be. Dan crouches, growling, and gets a running start.

He barrels into the witch, knocking her to ground. Phil thinks he can hear Nanette gasp, but it’s hard to tell over the pounding of blood in his ears. And the shrieking; the witch screams, flailing about as Dan pins her to the ground. She bares her teeth at him, her claws lashing out at his face. He snarls at her and snaps his teeth aggressively. Phil’s overwhelmed for a moment, frozen in the middle of the clearing.

“Phil!” Nanette yells hoarsely. “Get the damn necklace!” He nods and rushes over to where Dan and the witch are fighting. He can see the necklace hanging off her neck, an angry vein pulsating under it. The tiny vial is right there, all he needs to do is grab it—

He trips.

Nanette yells after him as he falls, but he’s mostly worried about throwing his arms out to catch himself. He ends up on his face, _of course_ he does, and it stings. But he can’t worry about that now. He lifts his head, screaming as he ends up face to face with the witch. She shrieks right back at him, her eyes so horrifyingly large, and instinctively he wants to get as far away from her as possible. Nanette’s words echo in his ears, though, so he throws a hand out and snatches the necklace, ripping it off her neck.

He scrambles to get up off the ground, clutching the necklace to his chest as he clumsily moves away from Dan and the witch. It’s just in time, too, as the witch throws Dan off of her.

“Crush it, Phil! Destroy it _now_!” Nanette shouts. The witch is getting up from the dirt as he throws the necklace to the ground. He stomps on it just as she lunges for him. He hears the glass break and prays to whatever deity above is listening that it works. The witch freezes mid-leap, her mouth open in a silent scream, and then she falls.

Her body crumples on the ground, disintegrating into ash.

“Oh my god,” Phil wheezes. He’s drenched in sweat, his heart pounding and mind whirling. Nanette coughs out a laugh in disbelief, then Phil hears a thud from her direction. He races over to where she’s fallen back down on the ground.

“Nanette, are you okay?” He grabs her hand, and she nods weakly.

“Worn out. I need some rest, but I will be fine. How is Daniel?” He lets her go, standing to go check on Dan, when he nearly trips over his own feet again.

Dan is also sprawled out on the ground in his cloak, but he looks to be unconscious. Phil looks to the sky, back at Dan, then to the sky again. The moon is still full and bright.

But Dan is human again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok first can i just say: so so sorry this is extremely late. it's a longer chapter than usual though lol if that...makes it any better....also i'm probably going to write one more chapter (it might be like, an epilogue or something idk) and then the story's done! i actually anticipated this story to be 20-25k words, i guess i was pretty close but i'm still going way over what i expected.  
> anyway i don't really have an excuse for not writing this chapter other than Life's A Bitch Man And I Am Stressed  
> my tumblr is [azurephil](https://azurephil.tumblr.com/) come say hello! i promise i will be writing more!


	15. Chapter 15

Dan’s eyelashes flutter, his lips letting out the gentlest sigh as he sleeps. His cheek is squished into the pillow beneath his head, his curly hair wild and damp with sweat. He looks so soft, sweet like an angel.

Phil won’t touch, though. He sits on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake Dan who slumbers beside him. Dan had slept through the night and the morning, and it’s midday now. Phil’s tired himself, especially after hauling Dan up from the dirt and carrying him home (thankfully, Dan is not too terribly heavy). Even as his eyelids droop, Phil forces himself to stay awake. He needs to make sure Dan will be okay.

His mind wanders to Nanette, to the way she dragged her feet across the clearing and used the last of her strength to vault to the nearest branch of her tree. She draped herself across it, falling fast asleep as blossoms sprouted up around her. He can still see the emerald hues of the leaves, the pale pink of flower buds and petals blooming along the branches. It was almost as if the tree was rapidly changing through seasons. He found himself mesmerized by it, sat on the ground with Dan to his chest, stroking his hair. It was hard to tear himself away and bring Dan home.

The flowers blooming in Phil’s head drift away as he snaps out of his reverie. Dan begins to stir, breathing in through his nose and turning his face further into the pillow under his head. Immediately, Phil is at attention. He nervously wrings his hands together and tries not to hover directly above Dan as he wakes. After a moment or two, Dan sleepily blinks his eyes open.

“Phil?” he mumbles. He groans and his hand rises to massage his temples. “What happened? Did I, like…dream all of that, or something?” he asks while looking around the bedroom. It must be disorienting, Phil realizes, to be fighting a magical being one moment and laying in a comfortable bed the next.

“You didn’t dream it,” Phil murmurs, finally reaching out to stroke Dan’s curly, mussed hair. His big, brown doe eyes questioningly stare up at Phil. _So beautiful,_ Phil can’t help but think. The sun glows on his peach-pink lips and bathes his eyelashes in gold and Phil’s chest clenches. “Everything was real, and you’re alright now.”

“Did it…work, do you think? I hope the curse is broken…” Dan casts his eyes away from Phil, drawing in a tight breath. _Oh,_ Phil realizes, _of course he doesn’t know._

“It was,” Phil says. Dan’s focus snaps back to him, tired eyes growing wide and alert. “Broken, I mean.”

“It—what, how?” Dan stutters. He looks absolutely awestruck. A grin spreads wide on Phil’s face.

“After we, you know…killed her—”

“After _you_ killed her,” Dan interrupts.

“R-right. After that, you went back to normal.” Dan leans up suddenly on his elbows.

“I what?”

“You turned back into a human, Dan. It worked,” Phil says, his smile hurting his cheeks. Dan’s jaw hangs open as he silently gapes at Phil.

“Oh my god,” he chokes out, eventually. He flops back on the bed and huffs a laugh to the ceiling. Phil giggles, leaning down to squish him in a hug. He soaks in the warmth as he slides his arms between Dan and the bed. Dan’s arms encircle Phil as well; he kisses the side of Phil’s face and snuggles his head into his neck. Phil thinks Dan’s giggling too, with the way he’s shaking a bit, but—no. A hiccup, a little sob into the skin of Phil’s neck and he’s pulling back, shushing Dan as he starts to cry. Tears have barely slid down Dan’s cheeks before Phil kisses them away.

“I can’t believe we actually did that. I can’t believe it worked, what the fuck,” Dan rasps, his voice wobbling.

“I know,” Phil says, “I know. I’m so happy you never have to go through that again.” Though his eyes are red and wet, the smile on Dan’s face is so genuine Phil feels like _he_ might cry. Dan reaches his hands up to Phil’s face and yanks him back down for the best kiss he’s ever had. They’re grinning too wide, laughing too much and their teeth are clacking but it’s perfect, because Dan is free.

They lose track of time like they never have before. The sun filters in through the window and warms Phil’s skin, but it can’t compare to the way Dan warms him from the inside out.

 

 

_Over a month later_

Distant voices carry across the room behind Phil, unintelligible over the sizzling of the pan in front of him.

“How’s it coming? I’m hungry.” Dan calls from the lounge where he's watching TV. Phil rolls his eyes fondly, though Dan can’t see it, and steps away from the stove for a moment to walk over to him. He approaches the sofa where Dan is trying to look at him upside down, craning his head over the back of it. He leans down and kisses him.

“It’s coming along fine. Now stop that, you’ll hurt your neck.” Dan snorts.

“Okay, _mum_.”

Phil returns to the scrambled eggs he’s making before he burns them, smiling the whole way. He finishes cooking and plates up their breakfast (well, lunch, at this hour). He’s just about to call for Dan when a sound from outside stops him in his tracks. It nears the house, rumbling closer and closer until it stops. Then: the unmistakable slam of a car door. Phil hurries into the lounge without thinking, still holding the plates of food. At the same time, Nanette races down the stairs. Dan is sitting up straight as a ramrod with wide eyes. A laugh track from the television echoes throughout the otherwise quiet room.

The three of them listen as her shoes thump up the wooden steps. Her key turns in the lock, and the front door opens to the foyer. Aunt Charlotte walks into the lounge, tossing her skunk-like hair over her shoulder.

“Philip! I’m home, would you be a dear and help me with my bags—” She stops, seeing Dan. They’re locked in a stalemate, staring back at one another, and Phil feels like no one is even taking a breath. He remembered as her car pulled up that this is not a typical situation in her house. Dan would never come in the main house, and certainly would not lounge on Aunt Charlotte’s sofa while someone served him scrambled eggs. _She’s not fond of me_ , Dan had told him.

All of that was before Phil, though. Before he meddled in something he apparently shouldn’t have.

But if he hadn’t…he wouldn’t have Dan. Dan would still be in pain, alone and miserable.

Aunt Charlotte is speechless, looking between the three of them.

“Aunt Charlotte,” Phil says, nearly choking on his own saliva. “I, um.”

“What is going on here?” she asks. She doesn’t sound angry, at least.

“ _Madame_ —” Nanette begins, but Phil cuts her off.

“Aunt Charlotte, I have a confession to make.” She turns to Phil expectantly. “I did what you said I shouldn’t. I meddled.” Now she definitely looks cross. She folds her arms across her chest.

“Philip, I told you not to get involved with him—” she gestures to Dan, “—for a reason.” Phil hates confrontation, he hates causing trouble for others or feeling like he’s done something wrong. The blood rushes to his cheeks as he pushes through, not letting her attitude cause him to back down. He realizes he’s still holding plates of eggs and sets them down on the coffee table. He takes a step toward his aunt.

“I know. But…it ended up being a good thing. The best thing,” he says. “When I first got here, I felt sort of nervous about everything. It almost felt like coming here was a mistake. But it wasn’t, and I knew that after I met Dan.” Aunt Charlotte quirks an eyebrow at him.

“’Meddling’ in everything you told me not to was one of the best decisions of my life.” Phil’s voice grows a bit stronger, his chin a bit higher. “I know you and Dan don’t really get along. But that won’t be a problem anymore, because after this summer ends, he’ll never need to come back here again.” The mental gymnastics Aunt Charlotte is undergoing to understand his words show on her face. Her brows furrow in confusion, and Phil imagines she’s wondering how that’s even possible.

He glances back at Dan, who gives him the warmest, softest smile. That dimple that pops out is his to kiss in the coming months. Those eyes are his to get lost in, to find comfort in on his worst days. The curly hair atop his head is Phil’s to run his fingers through, his scent Phil’s to wake up breathing in.

His hands are Phil’s to hold as they walk through Manchester the following winter, admiring the lights strung up everywhere as they sip festive drinks. And Dan’s lips are his to taste in the cold air, sweet and caramel-flavoured.

It feels as natural as the first time they kissed. It’s natural to see Dan spread out across the blue and green of Phil’s bed. It feels like he belongs there (or rather, not specifically there, but wherever Phil is). It’s a tight fit for both of them on the bed, but when they’re curled up together sharing headphones, the new Muse album on repeat, it feels perfect.

And he was right. His mum does love Dan.

Phil makes sure to thank her many, _many_ times for convincing him to house-sit for Aunt Charlotte.

He thanks Dan, too, in the quiet of the night. When Dan is breathing deep and slow, Phil whispers to him how thankful he is. For loving Phil, for caring about him, for sticking with him, for understanding his odd quirks and accepting the ones he doesn’t. He thanks him for different things on different nights, but there is one thing he thanks Dan for almost every night.

Phil thanks him most of all for giving him the courage to go after something he was scared of—for allowing him to flourish on his own and stand up for what he believes in.

It’s something Dan never stops doing for him for years to come, and their love never, ever feels less than natural.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas!!! here is my gift to you: i finally finished this fic lol.   
> i have had...actually such an awful month and it's been really hard to write. but She's Done. i love this fic vvvv much, it's not very long but it's the longest thing i've ever written which was a challenge for me. thank you to everyone who's left comments (and who will leave comments in the future ig)!!! you are all so sweet. thanks for all the kudos and your nice messages on tumblr. i love u. v much.  
> my tumblr is [azurephil](https://azurephil.tumblr.com/) if you want to follow me there! thanks again guys!!


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